


healing (isn't) linear

by CinderScoria



Series: Endgame [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, escape the night - Fandom
Genre: (sorry Matt), (the second season four drops this is no longer canon ok), Aftermath of trauma, Angst with a Happy (?) Ending, First in a trilogy, Found Family, Group therapy AU, I mean kinda it could totally be canon, Matt renews his distressed dude card, Multi, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Trauma, Your Fave Will Probably Cry, but cool cool cool I love angst and adventure and saving the world it's totally chill, chapters are based around dbt skills, let's be honest this is just ninety thousand words of bonding and magical shit, listen I really just wanted the survivors to be friends and then it blew the heckity heck up, maybe the real magic is the friends we made along the way, the survivors save each other, triggers tagged at the beginning of each chapter for convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 101,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderScoria/pseuds/CinderScoria
Summary: They're all kind of broken, in a jagged edges sort of way, but that doesn't mean they can't fit with each other. The road to recovery is long and arduous - but if they travel it together, they can fill the cracks with gold.





	1. prologue

It’s May 7th when the news drops.

Tyler’s in bed—it’s hard to get out of it these days, especially since they’re coming up on a month without news from the missing Youtubers and depression has been clinging to him like an unwelcome cloak. He’s already gone through this once before (he’d cried when Oli came back alive) and he’d hoped with Joey’s death that it wouldn’t continue, and yet here they are, suffering, waiting for whomever survived this latest round to come home.

It’s not Teala, and he has to console Eva when she calls him to cry about it. It’s not JC, so he offers his condolences to Oli. It’s not Colleen, and he internalizes the hurt that rips through him once it fully registers.

It’s Matthew Patrick and Nikita Dragun, neither of whom Tyler knows personally.  _ Good for them, _ he thinks when he sees it, but he can’t help the disappointment threatening to climb his throat like a scream.

He’s numb for all of five minutes and has a panic attack immediately after, but that’s just the way these things go.

-

It’s May 14th and Tyler thinks he should reach out to them.

He’s followed Game Theory on Twitter and MatPat’s wife, Stephanie, has posted a long note to the community, stating that while Matt was safe and at home recovering, it’s going to be a while before he’s up to streaming again. No one hears from Nikita. Even her two friends, Laura Lee and Gabriel Zamora, have taken a leave of absence from Twitter, though that might be because of Manny MUA’s death, the missing piece of their foursome. Tyler knows how hard it is to reacclimate to reality after spending all night fighting for your life, so it’s not surprising that the two need to take some time to recover, but at the same time he’s burning with questions.

When Oli and Eva contacted him and Andrea to compare stories, they realized that the common denominator is Joey. Or it was Joey, because Joey is dead now. He’s dead now, but this is still happening. How? How did nine Youtubers get lured out to whatever party they’d been invited to, after two years worth of slaughterings, without Joey sending out invitations? Tyler needs to know, because that means none of them are safe anymore. It means this will keep happening until someone finally puts a stop to it, or until Youtube runs out of celebrities to sacrifice.

Tyler doesn’t know either of them, though, and neither do Oli or Eva. He doesn’t know about Andrea. They haven’t spoken in a while.

-

It’s May 22nd and Tyler’s just left the last funeral of this year’s casualties. It was for Rosanna Pansino, the sweetest personality behind the best baking channel on Youtube. Tyler cries, of course. He watches Ro’s boyfriend fall to pieces at the altar when he goes to speak. He listens to her sister tearfully recount how much Ro loved her friends. Cookie, her dog, howls mournfully, not understanding but missing her mom.

He and Eva have attended all seven funerals. Just like last year, and the year before that, each casket is empty. Just like last year, families go home broken-hearted and without any closure whatsoever. He wishes he could tell them everything, but it’s not a truth anyone wants to hear, or can comprehend. He can’t tell the Laurex parents that Alex volunteered to take Lauren’s place in the first round of voting. He can’t tell DeStorm’s son that his father died with dignity. He can’t hold Liza’s mother and apologize for not being able to save her. He can’t even tell Daniel that Joey’s never coming back.

It’s not fair, Tyler thinks as he stands with Eva at Ro’s grave, that it’s been a year and they’re still suffering. He should be done grieving, but for some reason he’s not. How long is this supposed to take? When will he start feeling okay again?

He’d heard that MatPat and Ro were really good friends, and would wonder, like everyone else, where the man is since he didn’t have the decency to show up at her funeral. But Tyler’s been there. He knows what it’s like to make it out when the people you love don’t.

It’s not fair, and it’s a hard lesson to learn that surviving the game doesn’t mean that you won it.

-

It’s June 10th and Oli Skypes Tyler out of the blue.

“How are you holding up?” his friend asks as Tyler powers down his computer, having finished today’s round of editing.

“I don’t know,” he tells him honestly. “Have you spoken to them yet?”

“I’ve sent an email to MatPat,” he says with a shrug. “Nothing yet. I think Eva was trying to get in contact with Nikita but, again, it’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

Tyler winces. Oli notices, and winces too. “That came out wrong, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s true.”

Oli hums, and eyes his friend in the phone’s camera. “Heard from Andrea yet?”

“Of course not.” Tyler purses his lips. “I’m sure she’s fine. She seems to be living her best life.”

If it comes out bitter then, well, maybe he is. She’s cut him and everyone else out of her life like their faces remind her of what happened. And that’s fair, he supposes, it’s always good to move on, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. Meanwhile Tyler’s been struggling to produce any sort of content whatsoever. He’s stopped going to therapy—it’s not like he can properly talk about it there anyway. Everything is hard and the latest wake of slaughterings is just, kind of the worst.

“Listen,” Oli says hesitantly, enough to catch Tyler’s attention. He stops putting away his camera and turns towards him, ready to listen. Oli’s an open book, bless him, and Tyler is a natural caretaker, so he’s primed to fix whatever’s wrong.

Oli sighs, which is a sign that he’s embarrassed. “Listen,” he says again, “I’m thinking about making a  _ really _ huge change, and I’d like your input on it.”

“Okay,” Tyler draws out, waiting to see where this is going.

“I think… I want to move to Los Angeles.”

Tyler blinks, and the grin is so spontaneous it hurts. “Oli, that’s awesome! Are you sure? That’s a big decision.”

“I’m not rushing into it,” Oli assures him, still looking wholly anxious, “I’ve been thinking about this for some time now and I think it’s just that I feel a disconnect, here? I love my family, I love my brother and I love my home, but…”

Tyler understands. It’s been hell without Andrea, because she’s the only one who knows what happened during their night, but Eva is within driving distance. Oli is a country and an ocean away. He hasn’t been Stateside since he, Eva, and Joey were found in the backwoods of Northern California. Tyler hasn’t been able to hold him in years.

“And also, I guess,” Oli continues with a small laugh, “LA is the place to go if you want to further your Youtube career, yeah? So it’s a win-win.”

“It’s an excellent idea, Oli,” Tyler says warmly. “Do you have a place in mind?”

“Well, no, I kind of wanted like a pep talk to push me over into doing it—”

“You can stay here with me.”

Oli stutters in surprise. “Wait—really?”

“Of course,” Tyler says, and he hopes he doesn’t come off too desperate, because in all honesty the house is lonely, it’s empty and lonely and cold and he’s wanted a roommate for a while now. “You can stay here till you find a place of your own, it’s totally fine.”

“Thanks, mate.” Oli laughs, voice colored with relief and maybe some giddiness. “You’ve made me feel so much better about this.”

“We’re your family too,” Tyler tells him, and for the first time in a long time he feels like things might turn out okay.

-

It’s June 15th when MatPat rejoins social media.

It’s a big deal for everyone involved. It means that he, at least, is ready to start moving on. There’s still no word from Nikita, although there are no reports of her going missing so Tyler isn’t too concerned. He can’t really afford to be, either, because he’s started doing more videos and getting back into the swing of living life as a Youtuber. Oli is slated to arrive in a month and that means Tyler has to clear space for him, which means lots of cleaning and reorganizing. Still, he watches the video Matt’s uploaded to the Game Theorists channel. It’s five minutes, unedited, and mostly consists of him thanking everyone for being so patient with him, and that he’s ready to start doing videos again. His voice is suspiciously hoarse, but Tyler chalks that up to stress. After all, he knows as well as any of the other survivors how hard it is to dive right back into social media after everything that went down.

Nikita Dragun posts her first vid back three days after MatPat posted his. “It’s a start,” Eva comments to Tyler one day as they’re cleaning out the guest room where Oli will stay, “but it’s still gonna be rough.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees, before sneezing.

Eva laughs and says, “Bless you,” before continuing on. “I wish we could talk about it with medical professionals, you know? Because I love you, Tyler, but sometimes I feel like there’s a storm in my head, and therapy only goes so far when you can’t tell them the reason why.”

That’s true, Tyler agrees. And it sparks an idea.

-

It’s July 13th and Tyler types up an email.

He’s done his research. He’s bought the book. Six copies, because while he’s not naive enough to think that Andrea would ever want to be a part of this, a part of him still hopes. In between preparing to have a roommate and keeping up with his videos, he’s found a cozy coffeeshop with a private back room for them to use. All that’s left is to send the invitations.

Eva thinks group therapy is a great idea, and Oli’s down for it when he gets here. If these latest survivors need help healing, well, so do the rest of them. Maybe together they can finally achieve some peace.

_ Dear Matpat, _

_ It’s good to see you adjusting back to life in the present…  _


	2. 1. Oli - TIP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T - Temperature Change  
> I - Intense Exercise  
> P - Progressive Relaxation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: a short, triggered flashback followed by a spiral of self-deprecation starting at "One last room to show you" and ending at "Here, honey, drink this." (bolded for your convenience, pls take care of yourselves)

**PART ONE - DISTRESS TOLERANCE**

_Oli_

Oli’s been to America a couple of times but each time he’s floored by how incredibly _massive_ it is. The flights alone took half the day and he’s never felt more spent than he does now. Still, the prospect of a new adventure (one that’s safe and preferably not traumatic) puts the pep back in his step as he makes his way through LAX.

Tyler is supposed to meet him at baggage claim. Oli’s sent most of his stuff on ahead, so all he’d checked were the last of his clothes. Thankfully, no one seems to recognize him as he makes his way towards baggage claim. Before the slaughterings, every once in a while a fan would approach him when he was out and about. But ever since his face made the news because of his disappearance and subsequent reappearance, it’s hard to go anywhere without someone mobbing him.

America might be different. There are bigger, brighter things to look at here, after all. Plus, Oli’s the first in a long line of survivors. The latest round of Youtubers who managed to escape are probably a lot more interesting than he is.

He gets to meet them on Sunday. Oli isn’t quite sure how to feel about that. The two had spent a month off the grid trying to recover, which is longer than either of the previous groups of survivors. Plus, they’ve only been back in the limelight for a couple weeks now, so who knows how they might react to the others? They could turn out like Andrea, for all they know. The Nikita girl certainly seems cold. Though to be fair, Oli isn’t the biggest fan of beauty gurus in the first place, so maybe he’s biased. He’s sure she’s a perfectly nice person. Probably.

“Oli!”

Tyler’s voice pulls him from his thoughts and Oli turns to find the blonde man grinning at him from beside the conveyor belt proudly boasting the airline he flew in on. Oli crosses the room in four broad strides and pulls him into a hug. They’re making a scene but he doesn’t care. He hasn’t gotten to hug his friend in two years. Tyler clings to him just as hard, burying his face into his shoulder and sending his glasses askew.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!” Tyler gasps as they pull away. “Oh my god, did you get _bigger?”_

“No,” Oli laughs, “you’ve just gotten smaller.”

“How dare you,” Tyler sniffs, but he’s still beaming at him. Oli hasn’t seen him smile like that in ages. Skype calls and Youtube videos don’t do him any sort of justice—he’s thinner and he looks tired, but he’s full of life as he scans the conveyor belt. “Which one’s yours?”

“It’s the red one in the back there,” Oli says, pointing. “No, Tyler, let me get it—god, you’re like a twig.”

Tyler rolls his eyes and lets Oli heft his bag. “Okay, I’ve got it all set up for you,” he chatters as he leads the way to the parking garage. “All your stuff is there but I haven’t really arranged it yet ‘cause I didn’t know how you’d want it, but Eva is setting up your closet and—”

Oli makes a strangled noise. “Eva’s at the house?”

“Yes?” Tyler gives him a strange look. “Oli, I love you dearly but there’s no way I was going to pull this off on my own. Besides, Eva’s kind of a fashionista, I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”

The blood drains from Oli’s face. He was not prepared for this turn of events. He’d thought that he had until Sunday before he’d have to face Eva again.

“Oli, oh my god,” Tyler says, putting a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Oli squeaks, and the other man’s eyes widen as he puts two and two together.

“Oh, you’re joking,” he says.

Oli turns bright red.

“Oh my god, _Oli!”_ It comes out a squeal, and Oli shushes him, looking around to see if anybody had noticed. Tyler ignores him, starting to jump up and down. “Oh my _god_ , Eva, really? _Eva?”_

“What’s wrong with Eva?” Oli grumbles defensively as he lifts his luggage again.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just— _wow,_ okay, wow, this changes everything.” Tyler narrows his eyes at him. “This isn’t the _real_ reason you wanted to move here is it?”

“No,” Oli sputters. Then he thinks about it. “Well, not the _only_ reason.”

“Ugh, I’m being used as a vessel for hetereosexual love,” Tyler laments. “But as your friend I am morally bound to play matchmaker.”

Oli balks. “You really don’t have to do that—”

But Tyler is in his own little world, wiggling at the idea of setting up his two friends. Oli sighs and smiles to himself as he follows Tyler to his car. He’d told the truth in that Eva isn’t the only reason he decided to move to America. If anything, she’s what tipped him over. It’s taken him almost two years to reconcile that the connection he feels with his partner isn’t just “we survived a massacre together and you’re the only one who understands” and something a little bit more. Now the only confusion lies in whether she feels the same.

And whether he’s brave enough to tell her, of course.

Oli hasn’t felt brave in a long while. He still has frequent panic attacks, especially during lightning storms and being confined in any way. He can’t sleep without a light on. He doesn’t swim anymore—even taking a bath triggers the memory of dropping into a dunk tank, fully expecting to be eaten alive by piranhas, and when he told Tyler that his friend graciously offered him the bathroom that has a shower stall only, rather than the one with the tub. Oli’s grateful to Tyler for a number of things, so if he wants to plot to get the two of them together, then who is he to take away his fun?

They settle into Tyler’s car and pull out onto the road, Tyler chattering the whole way. “So yeah, Eva’s at the house so I guess you gotta prepare for that but in the meantime I have so many ideas for this group thing and I’m really hoping it’ll be good for us, I’ve done so much research and if we can pull this off it’s gonna be great I promise.”

“It’s just going to be us?” Oli asks, and Tyler bobs his head.

“Yeah, but I have worksheets and books and stuff so it shouldn’t be too hard. I hope,” he adds, giving Oli a nervous grin. “I mean, this could totally blow up in our face.”

Oli reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine,” he assures him. “The worst thing that can happen is someone doesn’t show up.”

Tyler’s smile fades and he stares down the road. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Ah. Oli settles back, knowing that’s about Andrea. He chews on his lower lip, wondering how to approach this. “How is she? Do you know?”

“Well,” Tyler says, blowing a raspberry, “according to her Twitter she’s doing fine. She posts more videos than I do, that’s for sure. And she looks good. But what do I know? She doesn’t talk to me.”

His voice cracks a bit at the end there, but Oli doesn’t call him out on it. Andrea had upped and left the second they were cleared by the hospital to go home. She plastered on a smile and refused all of their calls, cut all ties and moved on with her life. Oli wants to hate her for it, but the truth is he’s envious. He wishes he didn’t have nightmares still, to this day, two years after the fact. He wishes he doesn’t feel the compulsion to talk about it and having no one who might understand within hugging distance. He wishes he can smile brightly for the camera again, that he doesn’t have to see how haunted his eyes have become when he’s forced to edit his videos. Andrea's doing better than all of them, and he doesn’t have it in him to resent her for it.

But she’s not his partner. Oli has Eva, they trust each other more than anyone else in the world, but Tyler… Tyler has no one. Even though they’re close friends, and became even closer in the year since Tyler has returned to the present, there are still things the blonde man hasn’t told him about his time in the Victorian era. Things that only Andrea knows. They’re all survivors, but Tyler is without his partner, and Oli is seeing, perhaps for the first time, just how badly it’s messing him up.

“Maybe she’ll be there,” he says encouragingly. “You never know.”

Tyler stares straight ahead, then forces a smile that’s entirely for Oli’s benefit. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Maybe.”

-

Tyler’s house is huge.

Oli’s been here before and he forgets every single time, it dwarfs anything he can possibly imagine being a house. It’s two stories, painted white, and has a garage big enough for the both of them even though they’re sharing Tyler’s car for the time being. Eva’s waiting in the driveway for them as they pull in, and Oli’s heart drops straight to his toes. She looks—well, she always looks good, but something about the blue tank, high-waisted white shorts, and long brown hair hanging to the small of her back makes his pulse race. Tyler gives him a sly look as he puts the car in park.

“You gonna get out and say hi?” he teases.

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Oli hisses through his teeth as he smiles awkwardly at Eva, grinning back at him with her hands on her hips. _It’s your best friend, Oliver,_ he scolds himself, _it’s just that your best friend is also the most amazing girl on the planet and she’s really smart and gorgeous and down to Earth, just get out of the freaking car—_

“Hi Eva!” Tyler says, overly loud, as he opens his own door. “Forgive Oli, he seems to be suffering from _jetlag.”_

Eva gives him a teasing grin through the window. “You didn’t sleep on the plane?”

 _I don’t sleep,_ he almost tells her, and then mentally smacks himself because that definitely isn’t something anyone needs to know. “I might’ve caught a couple of hours,” he says instead as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his own door.

“A couple hours,” Eva scoffs. “Come here, I haven’t seen you in like two years.”

She’s barefoot so he towers over her, but she’s still the one to pull him into the hug. Wow, she smells like flowers. Like lilacs or something. She’s warm, and fits perfectly in his arms. Oli relaxes, because he’s truly missed her. Her voice is huskier in person than it is over the phone, her skin shimmers bronze in the afternoon sunlight. She looks good, healthy, and her grip is strong as she pulls him in, and all the worry he’s built up about the move dissipates like smoke.

Tyler clears his throat behind them. Eva pulls away, laughing, while Oli tosses a glare in his friend’s direction. “I just thought you’d like to see your room before the sun goes down,” Tyler says innocently.

“It’s awesome, you’re gonna love it,” Eva says, bouncing a little as she leads him by the hand into Tyler’s massive and admittedly intimidating house. Air conditioning blasts him in the face, and he blinks in surprise. He hadn’t realized how hot it is outside, but it makes Tyler’s house feel almost chilly in comparison. There are high windows everywhere, so everything is chipper and bright. They pass the kitchen on the way to the stairs, and Oli has to fight not to have a heart attack at the sheer size of it.

Tyler keeps a running commentary of each room they pass, and Oli would remind him that he’s been here before but the truth is he can’t remember a lot of it. The past few years are all kind of a giant blur, so he lets his friend give his tour as they climb the stairs and make their way to Oli’s room.

“Okay,” Tyler hedges as he stops in front of the door at the end of the hall, “we picked out the colors and stuff, so if you don’t like it just tell us and we can totally do something different—”

“Tyler, you’re doing so much for me,” Oli tells him with a small smile. “I’m going to love whatever you’ve chosen regardless, I promise.”

This brings out a rather spectacular frown from the smaller blonde, but he opens the door and lets Oli enter what will be his room for the foreseeable future.

For a moment Oli just stands there. He’d been able to ship most of his furniture here, so the bookcase and dresser are familiar tokens of home. The king sized bed is new, though, and decorated with soft brown comforters. It stands at the far wall, dead center, with the windows on its left. The walls are painted pale green. It’s a big room, with lots of space, and the windows are tall and wide and gives him a fantastic view of the city. It even faces west, so he’ll get to see spectacular sunsets. He can even see downtown LA from here. Tyler’s house sits at the top of a hill, so they can peer into the valley. It’s not home but it’s something else, something new.

Tyler stands at his shoulder, wringing his hands. “Do you like it? Is it okay?” His anxiety makes his lisp especially prominent.

“Tyler,” Oli manages, a little choked up, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say that you like it,” Eva says with a laugh.

“No, I love it,” he says, turning to his friend and grabbing him in a bear hug. “God, it’s perfect. It’s perfect, Tyler.”

“Oh, you’re crushing me!” Tyler squeaks, and Oli puts him down. His friend beams at him. “We tried to make it a bit like your room back in the UK, but obviously some things kinda have to be different—”

“That’s a good thing, I promise,” Oli assures him. “I want kind of a fresh start, so seriously, Tyler, thank you, this is amazing.”

“Okay,” Eva interrupts, grabbing Oli by the elbow, “but we haven’t shown you the closet yet.”

Oli throws an amused glance Tyler’s way as he’s dragged towards one corner of the room, where sits a door that Eva flings open with a flourish. “Oh bloody hell,” he says, blinking in astonishment. It’s a walk-in closet, large even for him, and well lit from the lights overhead that Eva flicks on to show off her hard work. There’s a full length mirror at the end of it so he can see his ruddy face and wide eyes as he takes in the small room. Both sides are lined with clothes hanging above dressers that he presumes holds _more_ clothes. Where is he supposed to put the ones he brought over from the UK?

He fingers one of the jackets hanging up and turns to Eva with a frown. “This isn’t mine, though.”

“It is now!” she says in a voice that’s just under a squeal. “We went shopping and made some, ah, executive decisions on your wardrobe.”

“What’s wrong with my wardrobe?” Oli protests.

“Nothing,” says Tyler from behind them, “just that it’s a bit, ah… limited?”

“You wear the same four shirts in all your videos,” Eva informs him.

“I do not!”

“You do too, I’ve seen them all.”

Oli stares at her, face growing hot. “You’ve seen my videos?”

“Duh.” Eva gives him an odd look. “Why, don’t you watch mine?”

It’s a tease, but Oli rushes to get out, “Of course I do!” Then he bites his tongue, unwilling to admit that he might have seen them a little too many times, especially in recent months. Tyler cackles from behind Eva as she playfully puts her hands on her hips and glares at him.

“Unbelievable,” she declares, but she’s smiling, and Oli can’t resist smiling back. It’s nice. It’s the happiest he’s been in a while. He feels immediately comfortable here, like he fits without trying. And his friends, they don’t expect him to be the Oli he used to be, they don’t expect him to be anyone but the person he is now. There’s no pressure to perform, and the knowledge of it makes Oli kind of want to sit and weep.

 **“One last room to show you,”** Tyler says, turning to lead them out. “It’s the bathroom right here down the hall. It’s got a shower stall instead of a bathtub, I think just because of decoration or something? I never use this bathroom but, you know, now that you’re here it can be yours and it’ll be totally fine!”

Oli is feeling a bit overwhelmed but still so incredibly happy as he follows them out, and he goes to flick off the light in the closet.

He jumps, cursing as a shock runs through his fingertips, and suddenly the world tilts and goes dark.

_“You aren’t trying!”_

It’s Lele’s voice, her accent having disappeared in the wake of her shriek. Oli’s sitting in a hard wooden chair, strapped to it, and tears are streaming down his face as Eva misses another ring and he’s zapped again. Lele’s on his right, screaming at Joey, words almost incoherent, distorted by pain and panic.

 _Wait, no, I don’t understand._ He’s been through this before. Why is he back here? Isn’t he safe? He and Eva and Joey, they did the ritual, they escaped the house. Why is he back here?

Eva misses again and a hoarse yell is torn from his lips as the electricity courses through him, locking his limbs for a second or two before allowing him to slump back into the chair. Eva cries—well, they’re all crying, Joey looks like he can’t even concentrate as he tosses another ring, and makes it this time.

“Oli,” Eva says, the name strained, and he meets her eyes. She’s apologizing, he realizes. She won’t be able to save him.

_No, no, this isn’t how it happened._

“You can do this,” is what his voice says. It’s full of tears and pain but he tries to inject encouragement into it, because if anyone can pull this off it’s her.

Joey gets another ring. Lele is still screaming, like she never stopped, but Eva’s just standing there.

“Oli,” she says again.

 _“Please_ try!” he begs.

“Oli, Oli, Oli— _Oli!”_

He comes back, sucking in air, and he’s—he’s on the floor, how did he get on the floor, and it’s _so bright_ and he can’t breathe and Eva is in front of him and behind her is Tyler and they both look terrified. Eva grips him by the shoulders, wide, dark brown eyes peering into his, real and here and whole and here and he isn’t there anymore, it’s 2018, and she’s real and this is real. This is real, this has to be real.

His cheeks are wet. Oli buries his face in his hands, but they don’t stop his tears from coming. “Oli,” Eva murmurs again, pulling him in so his forehead rests against her shoulder. He’s too flooded to really comprehend that this would be really nice were he not having an emotional breakdown, or that it’s utterly humiliating to not be able to stop crying.

He isn’t humiliated. He’s exhausted. It’s been years and he isn’t over this. Everything about today was wonderful and now it’s ruined because his brain can’t tell the difference between static electricity and actual, legitimate torture, because of course it can’t. And he’s broken and frozen because he’s terrified if he moves again he’s going to shock himself and lose himself in the memories that are still _so_ fresh even years later, the smell of burnt flesh still in his nose, the sight of Lele’s vacant eyes staring straight through him, the crushing despair on Joey’s face, the relief warring with grief in Eva’s. He can see it in his mind’s eye like it happened yesterday and it’s hard to let go of the fear pulsing through him now. He’s safe here, but is he, really? He isn’t safe from the nightmares. He isn’t safe in the daytime, either. He isn’t safe and he never will be.

**“Here, honey, drink this.”**

It’s Tyler. Oli lifts his face to see him holding a tall glass of ice water. His bright blue eyes are blazing behind his glasses, which isn’t an expression Oli gets often after breaking down like this. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to drink water, but crying always leaves him thirsty so he takes the glass and brings it to his lips.

“Fast as you can,” Tyler adds.

“Why?” God. His voice is destroyed.

“Just trust me,” Tyler says, still with that determined light behind his gaze. “Just drink as much as you can as fast as you can.”

Oli stares at him. The glass is cold in his fingers and he wants to put it down, but Tyler gives him a look that all but threatens him, so he cautiously drinks it, slowly at first and then faster. Immediately his face cools. His tears stop, like they’d been shocked out of flowing. The water is _cold,_ cold enough that it monopolizes his attention. The ice clinks against his teeth. It’s odd that sometimes water can taste _good,_ but it brings the image of crisp winter mornings on a mountain somewhere, and reminds him of hope.

He finishes the glass without spurring a brain freeze, which is convenient. Oli puts the glass down. He still feels shaky and fragile, and _wholly_ exhausted, but he isn’t crying anymore. “How did you know to do that?” he asks, though it kind of comes out as a whisper.

Tyler sits back, looking pleased with himself. “It’s TIP.”

“What?”

“TIP. Temperature Change, Intense Exercise, and Progressive Relaxation. It’s dialectical behavioral therapy.”

Oli’s never heard of that. He puts the glass down and lets his head thump back against the wall. He’s sitting on the floor outside the closet, though he isn’t quite sure how he got here. Eva still has one hand clutched to his elbow, while Tyler slumps back. “Are you okay?” he asks. The stress is still lined in his face.

He thinks about lying. But he’s tired. “Not really.”

Eva squeezes his elbow. The comfort is nice, but Oli kind of just wants to be left alone. Now that he isn’t crying anymore, the shame is climbing his throat, threatening to choke him. _Good riddance,_ he thinks, and then feels bad about it.

Still. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eva says firmly. “This isn’t your fault.”

Oli isn’t quite sure what to say. “I just… feel like I should be over this.”

“We all heal at our own pace,” Tyler tells him. “And anyway, that’s what we’re here for. That’s what group is here for. To teach us how to live again, so this doesn’t happen. Or so we know how to navigate it if it does.”

The urge to apologize is _so_ strong, but Oli bites his tongue. He won’t do this here, in front of his friends. Not today. “Is it… all right with you guys if I head to bed?”

“Of course, honey,” Tyler says immediately, while Eva just stands and guides him to his feet, pulling him over to the bed.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asks.

Oli feels his ears grow hot. “In… in my room?”

“What? No, I mean, just, downstairs. In case you wake up later and still want to hang out.”

“Um excuse me,” Tyler says, “this is _my_ house, shouldn’t you be asking me that question?”

“You get to hang out with him 24/7, don’t be greedy.”

Oli smiles at his friends’ light-hearted banter. “That would be nice, Eva, thank you.”

“And hey,” Tyler offers, “we can show you the bathroom later. It’s no big deal.”

“Thank you.” Emotion makes his throat tight. “Seriously, thank you. I wouldn’t be able to explain that away to anyone back home, and you guys just… let me do it. I can’t explain to you what that means to me.”

Tyler softens a bit. “Oli, we’re never going to judge you for that. I know it might take a minute to seep in but… you’re here now, and it’s going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it sometimes. We got you.”

Oli’s face crumples. “Please leave before I start crying again.”

Tyler laughs. Eva lingers before she follows him out the door, leaving the light on because she knows Oli can’t sleep without it. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He has to think about it. Honestly he feels kind of hollow. He’s too cold now after being in Tyler’s air conditioned house—their house, rather, being in _their_ house—and drinking the ice water. His hands are still trembling from the shock, both figuratively and literally. But his heart feels warm and when he looks at Eva, he wants to blurt out everything he’s been thinking these past few months to her face.

Instead, he says, “I think I will be, eventually.”

She smiles at him. It’s quite radiant in the setting sun coming in from his window. She closes the door, and Oli sinks into the bed.

He’s asleep instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am LOATH to end it here but this chapter is four thousand words and I was literally weeping bc it's so long so here you go! I was planning on updating this once a week (I'm cheating because it's still Saturday on the west coast but also fight me) buuuut if I can swing it, I'm gonna aim for twice a week instead.
> 
> Each chapter will feature a different skill in some way. TIP is my favorite DBT skill so I had to start with it. They're all real tricks for emotional regulation so feel free to use them!
> 
> Up next: Tyler moderates the first survivor's group therapy session. It goes about as well as you could expect.


	3. 2. Tyler - willing hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> willing hands: accepting reality with your whole body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: some anxiety throughout the chapter, but nothing major

_Tyler_

Sometimes Tyler wishes Oli wasn’t so damn soothing all the time.

“Tyler, it’s gonna be fine,” says his friend as he watches Tyler rush from one side of the kitchen to the other.

“You can’t possibly know that,” Tyler snaps, just on this side of teasing, but only because he hasn’t felt this stressed since that time he had stepped on a landmine that triggered a countdown to his imminent death. He grabs the six DBT workbooks and shoves them in his bag, staggering at the added weight as he flies towards the fridge for some water bottles.

Oli stops him easily from where he sits at the kitchen island, snatching the bag from around Tyler’s shoulder and slinging it onto his own much bigger, much stronger frame. “I’ll be your pack mule,” he offers when Tyler scowls at him. “Seriously, Tyler, sit down before you fall down. We still have an hour before we have to be there.”

Tyler drops onto the stool next to him, exhausted and in minute amounts of pain. “I just want to be prepared for anything. We don’t know who all is coming or what they’re going to be like or how they cope with stuff, we don’t know what they’ve been through, we don’t know anything about these people. They could’ve snapped for all we know. Maybe they’re coming to murder us.”

“I won’t let them,” Oli says, kindly. Tyler shoots him a dirty look. “What?”

“You’re adorable and it’s disgusting.”

“Sorry.”

Tyler sighs and rubs his eyes under his glasses. Oli reaches over to massage his neck, and all of a sudden Tyler’s glad he’s already sitting, because the gesture makes his knees buckle.

“Oli,” he manages, “that’s gay.”

“Vaguely, yeah.” Oli frowns at him. “Why are you so tense?”

Tyler pulls away. “I’m not. I’m just a bit wound up about this.”

“Don’t be. We’ll get through it together.”

“Ugh, please stop.” Tyler groans. “Come on, if we get there early we can grab some coffee.”

Oli helps him round up the rest of his things, because of course Tyler went a little overboard when preparing for this. He has pens and legal pads for note taking, blank sheets of paper and crayons for doodling, water bottles and little bags of pretzels for snacking—by the time they get everything gathered, twenty minutes have passed and Tyler’s bag is filled to the absolute brim.

Tyler drives, since Oli is still new to American roads. He’s only been here three days after all, though he’s settled in pretty well all things considered. He’d ended up sleeping till morning that first night. Tyler attributes that to jet lag. Eva wasn’t outwardly disappointed, but she did give Tyler a rueful smile and a “take care of him” before she left.

And, well. That’s his intention, anyway.

It’s odd having a purpose again, he muses as he pulls into the parking lot for The Living Room, a cozy little coffee shop made out of what used to be a farmhouse on the outskirts of Los Angeles. He’d spent so long drifting, trying to find a reason to make his videos and hang out with old friends and do everything he used to. It all felt… plastic, like he was going through the motions, a cardboard cutout of who he used to be. But with the idea of group therapy came the drive to make it something amazing. So if he went a little overboard with reserving one of the cafe’s large, homey back rooms so they could all lounge on couches, or blowing a quite frankly absurd amount of money on these workbooks so they could all follow along, he can’t find it in himself to regret it. It feels like, for the first time in a long time, he isn’t just going through life on autopilot.

He really, _really_ wants this to work.

The Living Room lives up to its name. The actual café portion of the building is located immediately upon entrance, but beyond that are hallways that branch off to several spacious, warmly decorated rooms designed for studying, jam sessions, or just general hanging out. Tyler’s been coming to this coffee shop since before he’d been whisked away to the Victorian era, and he hasn’t really been back since his miraculous return. Still, the staff know him well, and were equally as pleased to hear from him as he was to hear he could reserve one of their rooms for group.

Myling, the owner of the coffee shop, smiles at him as he and Oli enter. “There’s my boy,” she says in her delightfully Pilipina accent. She makes her way around the counter to place both hands on either side of Tyler’s face, looking him up and down from where she stands three inches shorter than him. She clucks her tongue. “You’re getting skinny.”

Tyler gasps in shock. “Myling, that’s _rude!”_

“It’s true though, isn’t it?” she shoots back.

In response, he takes the back of her hand and brings it gently to his forehead. Myling laughs in delight. “You remembered!”

“Anything for my favorite lady.”

“I’m old enough to be your _lola,_ boy,” she says affectionately. “Now, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Of course!” Tyler steps back so Oli can shuffle forward. “Myling, this is my friend Oli.”

Oli dwarfs her. By a _lot._ He fumbles awkwardly as he goes to repeat what Tyler did, and in the end he has to kneel in order for her hand to reach his forehead. “Did I do this right?” he mumbles with an embarrassed grin.

Myling pats him on the cheek, utterly charmed. “You have good taste in friends, Tyler,” she says, allowing Oli to straighten. "Sixteen ounce hazelnut white mocha?”

Tyler beams. _“You_ remembered!”

“Anything for my favorite grandson,” she tells him with a wink. “And for you, Oli?”

“Ah, I don’t really drink much coffee,” Oli hedges.

“Then I will surprise you.” She eyeballs him like she can size up his tastes with a look. “You’ll like it. Put that away, Tyler,” she adds as Tyler pulls his card out. “Today it is on me. Visiting me again is payment enough.”

Tyler blushes all the way up to his ears. “Myling—”

“Take the compliment, _bastos talaga.”_ The old woman rolls her eyes at Oli, who grins sheepishly back at her.

“Yes, well.” Tyler—with much reluctance—puts his wallet away as he watches her buzz around the espresso machine like she’s twenty years younger than she actually is. “If everything goes well, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”

“I’ll be seeing a lot more of you whether this goes well or not.” She points a spoon at him. “No more disappearing for months on end, boy, understand?” He winces, and she softens. “We miss your sunshine around here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, gently, turning back to his drink. “Heal. And come back when you are ready.” She hands him the finished product, placing a hand on his cheek and giving him a fond smile. “Failing is how we grow.”

Tyler blinks wet eyes. _“Salamat.”_

She snickers. “You’re getting closer.” It takes another couple of seconds for her to finish Oli’s drink, and when he goes to accept it she holds his hand a bit longer than necessary. A silent conversation, one Tyler can’t interpret, passes through the two, and then Myling releases him.

“Now, Tyler, piano room is all set up for you. Have fun with your friends, okay?”

“I will. Thanks, Myling.”

“She’s nice,” Oli murmurs as Tyler leads the way towards the back room.

“Yeah, she’s wonderful. She inherited this house from her dad when she came over from the Philippines. His goal was to turn it into a slaughterhouse, but when he died and she got the property, she turned it into something more positive instead.”

Tyler opens the door to the piano room—essentially a wide, open area where open mics are usually held. There are couches, a piano in the corner, a stage at the back of the room, and a balcony on the opposite end of it. The colors are warm browns and reds, and the sunlight streaming in through the skylight makes the golden floorboards glow. Tyler loves it here. It’s the home his house could never be, and he hasn’t quite put his finger on what’s so different about this place in particular that just makes him feel safe.

He sinks into the corner of one of the couches, closest to the stage. “I’ve been coming here for years,” he says as Oli takes a seat beside him. “I can’t explain it. I feel so comfortable here. I figured that would make this a good spot to hold a therapy group. I mean, like, if _I_ feel safe here…”

“The others might, too,” Oli finishes for him. “It’s a good idea, Tyler. This place is amazing.” He studies him. “I can tell that you’re happy here.”

The sentence strikes Tyler as odd, but he doesn’t know why. Still, he smiles at Oli, appreciating the sentiment even if he doesn’t understand it, and they settle back to wait for the others.

2:50 rolls around and Eva is the next to arrive. She gives Oli a hug, since she hasn’t seen him since his arrival, and pecks Tyler messily on the cheek. “Gross, girl cooties,” he whines, and she flips him off with a laugh.

“This place is so cool!” she gushes, climbing up onto the stage so she can start dancing.

Oli applauds her, but Tyler is barely paying attention. His eyes are on the door, both knees bouncing and seriously risking spilling his coffee, as the minutes tick on and on. The anxiety of waiting starts as spiders in his gut that slowly but surely climb their way up his throat. He kind of feels like crying. Or maybe throwing up.

“Hey.”

He tears his gaze from the door to Eva, who peers at him from where she sits on the stage, legs dangling over the edge. “Breathe,” she advises him, and Tyler struggles to pull in a shaky breath.

“I don’t know why this is happening,” he mutters, curling his fingers into fists so they don’t tremble.

Oli pats him on the knee. “Whatever happens, we’re right here with you,” he informs him.

His friend’s calm washes through him, but he doesn’t have time to appreciate it, because the two newest survivors arrive.

They walk through the door together, a unified front. Tyler’s eyes are drawn first to Nikita Dragun’s powerful presence. She’s smaller than her partner but commands all the attention. Today’s wig is platinum silver, pin straight, and pulled into a high ponytail at the top of her head. Her makeup is flawless as usual, though a bit understated than what she's known for, and she wears a faded pink crop top and spotless white capris. Her eyes scan the room in a way that makes Tyler think she’s mapping out exits, or sizing up potential threats. She is easily the most dangerous thing in the room.

Matthew Patrick is almost dull in comparison, though Tyler is pleasantly surprised to find that he is a rather beautiful man in person. It’s obvious he just came out of the shower because his brown hair curls a bit when wet. He’s dressed in modest jeans, a dark red t-shirt, and one of his infamous jackets—this one white with black trim. He keeps step with Nikita but hangs back a little, more interested in the other people occupying the room than the actual room itself. His gaze catch the stage and his lips pull into a smile.

“Man, this takes me back,” he comments, and Tyler’s heart rate eases up a little.

He stands so he can shake their hands. “Hi, I’m Tyler,” he says, noting that while Matt’s grip is firm and confident, Nikita’s claw-like nails bite into his wrist like a warning.

Oli is next to shake hands, and then Eva, and then introductions are done. “Did you get drinks?” Tyler asks, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice.

Matt wiggles the Diet Coke Tyler hadn’t even noticed was in his other hand, while Nikita says flatly, “I don’t drink a lot of coffee these days.”

“Oh, okay,” Tyler says in a rather small voice. “Ah, well, welcome to the first Survivor’s Group Therapy session—”

“First?” Matt interrupts, raising his brows. “From your email I was under the impression this was a regular thing.”

Tyler freezes. Oh. That’s right. He’d worded it that way in the hopes that the two latest survivors—who no doubt had a few trust issues, because whom among them didn’t—would be more likely to say yes. _Jeez, they weren’t kidding about this guy._ “Ah. Yes, but this is the first, like, official one.” Oh, yep, and now his face is hot. Matt and Nikita exchange a quick glance and Tyler would very much like to disappear now thank you, but Oli’s at his back and he puts a hand on his shoulder.

Whether it’s in support of his friend or to stop him from running away remains to be seen.

“Anyway,” he squeaks. “Uh, we’re just waiting on one more person and then we can start, I guess.”

“Sounds good,” says Matt. He turns to Eva. “That was a really good jazz square you were doing when we walked in, could you show me again?”

Eva blinks in surprise at him, and throws a startled glance in Tyler’s direction. He mouths _“theatre kid”_ at her, and her face lights up.

“Yeah, come on up!”

All of a sudden Tyler’s glad Oli is there at his back, because that leaves him essentially alone with Nikita. She looks him up and down like he’s something she found on the bottom of her shoe, and Tyler crinkles his nose in response. To his surprise, this brings a smile from her, and it transforms her entire face.

“My friend has the _biggest_ crush on you,” she tells him.

“I’m flattered, truly, but I’m taken.”

She arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “By who?”

“Life and all her bullshit,” Tyler deadpans, and Nikita laughs.

It’s okay for about fifteen minutes. They all have a good laugh at watching Matt fail to pull off modern dance moves Eva tries to teach him. Nikita calls scathing remarks to her partner that don’t seem to faze him, which tells Tyler that she’s just Like That. Oli hovers a bit like something is about to go horribly, terribly wrong, but to be completely honest, Tyler feels better than he has in a long time. He almost forgets that he’s supposed to be watching for Andrea.

Almost.

Matt glances at his watch, because of course he’s the type to wear a watch. “It’s ten past,” he informs Tyler, a question in his voice.

Tyler glances at the door, gnawing on his lower lip. He sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. We can probably start now.”

There are plenty of couches, but Eva stays perched on the stage while Matt takes a stool next to the comfy chair Nikita delicately sits into. Tyler and Oli take the couch opposite, and they all kind of sit and stare at each other for a long moment.

“I feel like—” Tyler starts, and he glances at Oli, who nods in encouragement. Exhaling deep, he runs a hand through his blonde hair and glances between Matt and Nikita. “So in my head I’d planned us to, like, learn skills and stuff, but I think this first session should kind of be dedicated to, like… exchanging stories? Because there’s a _lot.”_

Nikita gives a caustic scoff. “How much time you got, girl?”

While Tyler knows that question was rhetorical, he does answer, “We do have this room for an hour and a half, and honestly it might take that long, so… who should go first?”

A long pause. Then Oli says, “Well. Eva and I were the first. Maybe we should go in chronological order?”

Eva kicks her legs from where she sits on the stage. She doesn’t make eye contact, but says, “We were invited to a housewarming party by Joey. At first I thought it was, like, a themed collab, ‘cause we had to dress a certain way and act in our roles, and he said we were gonna be taken there by a “time traveling car.” There were eleven of us, including Joey.”

“We had a time traveling carriage,” Tyler comments dryly.

Matt smirks. “We had a séance.”

“... _what?”_

“Yeah, it was wild.” He turns back to Eva. “What year?”

“1920’s,” she says. “The Victorian Era for Tyler. What about yours?”

“Seventies.”

“That must’ve been fun,” says Tyler.

“Believe me,” Matt tells him, “it wasn’t.”

And so it goes. Eva—and Oli, occasionally—tells her version of events, with Tyler and Matt chiming in with their own versions. As Tyler listened to Matt and Nikita’s story, he became more and more disappointed in Joey. The second time this happened, his friend couldn’t have been at fault, he’d been kidnapped and brainwashed and fed on by vampires. But he clearly had and made the choice, this time, to lure his friends in so they could be killed one by one.

 Matt and Nikita, for their parts, are equally as fascinated in the previous two slaughterings, Matt especially. Every once in a while he’d mutter “I knew it,” under his breath. And that’s true, actually—in his research on the two, Tyler had watched the theory videos Matt had done on the slaughterings. He’d gotten a couple things wrong, of course, not having the full story, but it’s almost alarming how much he’d gotten _right._

By the time everything has been said and done, an hour had passed and Tyler’s head is reeling. “So Joey survived this time,” he says at the end.

“Yes,” Matt says with a nod, “but we haven’t seen or heard from him since we got back. I looked into it a week or so ago. Officially, his boyfriend reported him missing a couple months before you guys disappeared, Tyler, and since you didn’t mention him as one of the people who died, he’s still listed that way.”

“That’s so sad,” Oli murmurs.

It’s quiet for a moment as they think of their lost friend. Tyler’s not naive enough to think that this is over. That it isn’t going to happen again. Especially if the common factor amongst all three slaughterings is Joey Graceffa. He knows now that death didn’t interrupt the annual massacre, and now he doubts that anything will. It’s a terrifying thought.

“Well,” he says aloud, clearing his throat to get things back on track, “I, um, guess we should actually start on the therapy portion of this session? So, Oli, if you could grab the books—”

Oli retrieves the bag and helps Tyler hand out the thick, heavy workbooks to the others. Hurt pangs his chest as he remembers that he’d brought six, but it’s clear by Andrea’s absence that she wants nothing to do with them. And that’s fair, of course. She doesn’t owe him anything, and if she’s okay with living her life without a support group then so be it.

He’ll get over this, eventually. He’ll move on. It’s fine.

Matt hums in surprise as he runs a hand over the book’s glossy cover. “You’re basing this on DBT?”

“Yeah! Oh, that’s right, you have a degree in neuroscience, don’t you?”

“I double majored, yeah.” Matt nods in approval. “This is a good idea, Tyler.”

Pleasure spreads through him at the compliment. Tyler tries not to blush. He’s been doing that too often lately.

Nikita raises a hand. “Do y’all wanna inform the rest of us who didn’t major in Nerd, please?”

“Dialectical behavioral therapy is a type of skill-based therapy for emotional regulation,” Tyler explains. “It’s especially helpful for those with borderline personality disorder, anger management issues, addiction, and—for us, of course—post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“I don’t have—” Nikita starts to say, but a look from Matt makes her shut her mouth. She rolls her eyes. “All right, whatever, if you think it’ll help.”

“Actually, Nikita,” Tyler says, pointing at her, “you can maybe help me with this first skill.”

Nikita hands him the iciest look he’s ever received, but she stands up and sashays her way to the couch he and Oli lounge on, sitting right next to him.

“Okay,” Tyler mutters, a little unnerved. It’s fine. He’s dealt with divas before. It’s just that Nikita in particular seems the type to _actually_ cut a bitch. “Uh, well, put your hands, palm up, on your knees. Like this.”

He demonstrates, and she follows his example even though her nails give a stronger impression of dragon claws than the openness he’d been going for.

“Think of something that made you really angry,” he tells her.

She curls her lip at him. “You mean like the time you volunteered me for something I don’t have the slightest clue in?”

“Uh, sure, like that.” _Baby steps, I guess._ It’s probably easier to do this on a smaller scale anyway. “Now, willing hands is, like, a physical representation of opposite action. When you’re angry, you want to clench your fists. Think about that thing that made you angry, and consciously keep your fingers unclenched and open. How do you feel?”

“Kinda like I wanna punch you in the face.”

Tyler huffs. “That’s fair, I guess. The opposite of willingness is willfulness. It means that you don’t want to do the thing that might be beneficial for you. Do you feel willing, or willful?”

Nikita tilts her head, closing her eyes to contemplate this. She purses her glossed lips. “I’m willing… to punch you in the face.”

Despite himself, Tyler laughs, and Nikita smiles in response to it. “Well, I guess that’s the other lesson for today,” he tells the group. “Not every skill we learn in this group is going to be right for you. That’s okay. As long as we keep building our arsenal, we’ll find what works, what speaks to us as individuals.”

He has them all try it. Oli and Matt seem to have the easiest time grasping the concept, though Eva, Nikita, and Tyler all struggle with it. Tyler doesn’t report to the others that this isn’t his favorite skill. Radical Acceptance—and everything it entails—is difficult for him to wrap his head around. But they don’t need to know that, and it’s fun to practice in the meantime.

The last half hour passes too quickly. Tyler feels warm at the end of it, as they’re all munching on their pretzels, the conversation having drifted from DBT skills to future plans they might have. He learns that Matt’s son is named Ollie, which Oli gets a kick out of, and that Nikita is actually really funny when she isn’t being mean.

Everything is fine, all fine, right up until Eva touches Oli’s elbow and says, “Oh, Tyler! We’re all here now, we can go visit the others all together this time, like, as a group!”

Tyler lights up. “You’re right!” He turns to the three of them who look a little lost. “Every month on the 21st, Eva and I visit the cemetery where the others are buried. It’s a little tradition, but since Oli’s moved here now and you guys are, like, officially a part of the family, you can come too!”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Oli exclaims, and Matt nods his agreement, but Nikita’s face shutters, darkening like a storm cloud crossed in front of it.

“No,” she says flatly, and stands so she can swing her purse over her shoulder.

Tyler sits, stunned, as she shrugs Matt off and stalks out of the room without another word. Matt throws an apologetic look over his shoulder and hurries after her, his pretzels and Diet Coke forgotten on the stage next to Eva.

“What just happened?” Oli wonders.

Tyler only shakes his head, crestfallen.

He can’t shake the feeling he just screwed everything up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grinds teeth* this chapter gave me SO MUCH TROUBLE. It's also just over four thousand words long so I guess I'm just gonna resign myself to this fate of having long ass chapters, rip me and my free time
> 
> Myling is based off of my lola and will show up again in the book so please love her
> 
> The Living Room is a real place, one of my favorite little coffeeshops in existence, and it just felt right to include it. Especially considering I lost my notebook, which contains the outline to this entire fic, somewhere in its piano room. Might have cried a solid, like, ten minutes about it.
> 
> Up next: Matt's started having... dreams.


	4. 3. Matt - coaching call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> coaching call - exactly what it says on the tin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings today, unless you count language, because Nikita :P 
> 
> "coaching call" refers to one calling their therapist when they feel flooded or unsafe, but Nikita isn't suicidal so it isn't as drastic as it sounds.

_Matt_

_This is a dream._

Matt stands in the dim, blue and red glow of the arcade’s neon sign. There’s a ringing in his ears. His heart pounds, defiant, screaming that it still can, as he gazes up into the wild, bloodthirsty eyes of Wilmer the Strong Man. Behind him people are shouting, though he can’t tell if it’s in celebration or protest for what’s about to happen.

He knows what’s about to happen.

At the time he thinks of Stephanie. He thinks of his parents. He thinks of his editing crew, and he thinks of his fans, and he thinks of Ro. He thinks of the son he’ll never get to meet. He thinks of the Lazarus box.

He thinks he knows what the pain is like and he’s always wrong. It’s always twenty times worse, twenty thousand times worse. It’s blinding and numb and loud and his pulse screams as it stutters and the neon of the Ferris wheel is the last thing he sees before there is nothing but darkness and a pain that won’t stop. There’s darkness, and emptiness, and a feeling of failure, and a wheat field, and a voice, and a church, and then—

Sweat pours down his face as he bolts upright. This time he manages to swallow his scream so it doesn’t wake the baby, but Stephanie follows him up as his entire body shudders from the shock of the dream. The images are already fading from his mind, along with the voice so familiar he aches trying to place it, and he shakes as Stephanie wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“Same dream?” she says softly into his ear, and he just nods, not trusting his voice. Steph buries her face into his neck and he tenses at the contact, then hates himself for it. The memory of Strong Man’s grip against his neck is bright, though, and lingers on his skin, and he tries to replace it with the feel of Stephanie’s chin resting on his shoulder as she rocks him. It’s been months, he should be over this. He should be over this and he never is.

 _Same dream._ Except it isn’t. It isn’t, because it isn’t a dream. It’s a memory.

He’s been afraid to sleep lately. When he stills enough to dream, the memory haunts him. Same dream, even though it’ll start in different places. Sometimes he’s straining against Manny’s sheer, overpowering brute strength. Sometimes he’s turning and running from the Strong Man as he reaches for him. Sometimes he doesn’t even let him drop to the ground, just holds him by the throat until his airflow is cut off, or he crushes his trachea with the slightest bit of pressure. However it starts, it always ends with him dead.

And with death come the images. A brightly lit wheat field. A mansion on a hill. A cork tree. A church. Jael and Ryuu, names he now knows. And a familiar face, a voice he can’t quite place, echoing over and over. _“They’re not who you think they are.”_

It’s the same dream every night, and every night Matt wakes up screaming.

They sit in silence for a long time. Ollie could wake at any moment, so maybe it’s a good thing he’s up now, even though he hasn’t been getting near enough sleep and it’s starting to show. Steph remains so still against him that he assumes at first that she’d drifted off, but then she stirs and says, “Are you… ever going to tell me?”

It’s the problem with having such a brilliant partner, he muses as he stares into the shadows before him. She’s known from the beginning that he was lying about having forgotten that night. Partially because she’d helped him come up with theories for the slaughterings before he became a victim of one, about how they could be prevented in the future. She knew as well as he did that the previous survivors weren’t telling the whole truth. And she knows that they aren’t now, either.

But it’s been months, and nothing’s changed. If she puts her mind to it Stephanie can figure it out, and Matt has no doubt that the only reason she hasn’t tried yet is out of respect for him. He could save her the trouble. After all, he’s the only one of the survivors with a steady partner, one who witnesses his nightmares every single night, hears him cry out for Rosanna, holds him as he curls in on himself and sobs, still feeling the break of bone again and again and again, unable to forget the memory of it. He won’t be able to hide it from her much longer, so he can’t be blamed by the group if he tells her.

So. He should tell her. But…

Matt turns his face, presses his forehead to hers. He licks his lips. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Steph,” he says, voice cracking, “it’s magic and time travel and bullshit. You won’t believe me.”

She flinches against the swear that passes his lips, and he feels kind of bad about it—he’s been hanging around Nikita too much—but he needs her to understand. Steph pulls back so she can look into his eyes. When she sees how earnest he is, hers widen and she dips her chin in a nod.

So Matt tells her. He tells her everything. He tells her how they managed to travel back in time via séance. He tells her about the town of Everlock and their mission to save it. He tells her how he failed to save JC and how it still haunts him, how he feels responsible for Teala’s death. He tells her Ro’s last words to him. How relieved he was to know it was over.

But he doesn’t tell her the biggest thing. Just like he’d kept it from Tyler, Oli, and Eva. The thing only Nikita—and Joey, wherever he is—knows.

That he’d died. That he shouldn’t be alive right now.

It feels like a secret. He knows now why Joey had kept it quiet. It’s almost shameful. Every breath he takes, every beat of his heart feels like cheating. It feels wrong and he doesn’t want anyone to know that he may as well be a corpse, a dead man walking. It’s not like anybody would believe him.

And, well, maybe he should’ve told the others. They know about Joey’s death and subsequent revival, why is Matt any different?

 _Because it shouldn’t be me,_ he realizes, as Stephanie silently processes all she’s been told. He is here when others are not. Ro. Safiya. JC. Roi. Colleen. Teala. Manny. He is here, not because this world needs him in it, but because the remaining players had needed him to finish the game. He was never supposed to survive the night. And now he is here and they are not and everything in him screams that this is _wrong, wrong, wrong,_ it isn’t fair, he’s nothing but a degree in neuroscience, a try-hard, a cheat.

Is that it, then? Is he ashamed that he’d been granted a second chance, above all the others, as if he deserves it any more than they do? As if he deserves it at _all?_ Is that why it’s so hard admit that he shouldn’t be alive? Is he just scared that others will see it, too?

 _That’s a dark path, Matthew,_ he acknowledges grimly, as the baby monitor on the bed stand next to them lights up and Ollie’s cries fill the night.

“I got him.” Steph rises and leaves the room like she’s running from him, and he can’t blame her. This story is a lot to process all at once. Hell he _lived_ it and he still can’t fit any sort of logic into the entire experience.

Matt catches her eyes right before she slips out the door. They’re bright in the moonlight streaming in from the window. She lingers for a second, just watching him, and then is gone.

She’s been doing that a lot lately: watching him, like he’ll disappear the second she looks away. Matt doesn’t want to tell her that he feels somewhat the same. That he isn’t really here. He feels like he’s floating most days. Yesterday he’d made Steph’s tea and burned the crap out of his hand because he’d missed the mug while pouring, and he hadn’t even noticed until Steph had walked into the room. He forgets the smallest things these days, like leaving his keys in the lock of the front door. The part of him that studied psychology knows it’s disassociation, but that’s a terrifying thought. He doesn’t want to go back to the weeks he wasn’t feeling, wasn’t responding to anything at all. It was safe but it was dangerous. He wasn’t in control.

He doesn’t feel all that in control now, though, if he’s being honest with himself.

His phone buzzes from where it’s plugged in on the nightstand. It buzzes again, so he reaches over and grabs it, squinting at Nikita’s duckface pouting at him from his screen. She’d insisted on taking a contact pic, as if he’d ever mistake her for anyone else. Why is she calling him at three in the morning?

“Nikita?” He keeps his voice soft so he doesn’t disturb Steph and Ollie. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

_“Please don’t make me go.”_

All the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Nikita crying doesn’t really compute. He’s seen her shed tears once, only once, in the moments of shock after she’d been forced to shoot Manny. His partner is a strong one, too stubborn and too scared to cry in front of anyone if she can help it.

“What’s wrong, honey,” he prods gently as he gets up, making his way to the door, then down the hall, then down the stairs.

She breathes heavy in his ear, choking on sobs she can’t seem to get under control. _“Matt, I ruined everything.”_

“You haven’t,” he says, but she talks right over him.

_“I really wanted to try, is the thing? ‘Cause we needed answers about the others but also ‘cause it might have been nice to just… talk about our shit, you know? But I think I fucked it up.”_

Matt slips out the front door into the cool September night. Even after a boiling summer, the cold came on fast, and he shivers in the breeze. Nikita doesn’t sound drunk, he doesn’t think, and he’s quick to dismiss the possibility because he knows she doesn’t like to be, not anymore. She’s too afraid of relinquishing control to anyone or anything that isn’t herself. But that doesn’t explain this sudden flood of emotion, now of all times.

She’d refused to talk to him after she’d stormed out of therapy three days ago. He had given her space, knowing she’d come to him if she needed him, but she didn’t seem to. That’s just Nikita in a nutshell, so he didn’t find anything wrong with it.

Maybe he should’ve pushed.

 _“I just…”_ Nikita drops to a broken whisper. _“I can’t… go, please don’t make me? Matt, please don’t make me go.”_

“I couldn’t make you do anything you don’t want to do,” he tells her.

_“You could. If you asked me, I would go.”_

It’s very matter of fact, but Matt blinks because this is news to him. Still. That’s something to be explored later. “Nikita, you don’t have to come to the cemetery with us.”

 _“But you’re going.”_ She sounds miserable.

He peers up at the moon. It’s inching its way towards full, so the street ahead of him is basked in light. He must look kinda strange, standing barefoot in his driveway talking on the phone at three in the morning. But then again, maybe no one is awake to see it.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m going. But that doesn’t mean anything, Nikita. You just aren’t ready and that’s okay.”

 _“Are_ you _ready?”_ she shoots back, and the answer is _hell no_ because he’d missed every funeral when he was away, tucked inside his own head, and he still isn’t sure he can face Ro’s headstone or go anywhere near JC’s. His silence stretches on and she takes it as confirmation. _“So it’s just me then.”_

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

_“I shot him, Matt. I killed Manny.”_

_I killed JC._ He doesn’t say it. “And when you’re ready, you can face him. I know you can. But I’m not gonna push you before then. And you shouldn’t, either. It’s okay.”

 _“I fucked everything up.”_ Her voice trembles.

Matt shakes his head. “You didn’t. You can still come to group if you want. If they don’t understand, that’s their problem. But I promise you they will.”

She’s silent for a long time. All he hears is sniffling as she attempts to quell her tears. Matt rubs the goosebumps on his arms as he waits patiently for her. The air kinda smells like rain. That’d be nice, he muses. It’s been too hot around here for far too long.

Finally, Nikita sighs. _“Okay.”_

“Okay?”

 _“I can’t…”_ Her voice breaks. _“I can’t see Manny. But I do… want to come to group. I want to try.”_

“We’d be lucky to have you,” Matt tells her. “Are you good now? Are you safe?”

_“Yeah. Thanks, Matt.”_

“Anytime. I mean that,” he adds seriously, dropping his voice. “Any time you need me, I’m here. Okay?”

 _“Okay.”_ A beat, and then, _“I still hate you.”_

Matt chuckles. “I know.”

_“Bye.”_

“Bye.”

She hangs up. He kind of wants to stand here, watching the sky turn, but it’s freezing and he has a wife and son to get back to, so he turns around a shuffles back into his dark house.

Stephanie is still in Ollie’s room when he enters. She stands silhouetted in the window, swaying from side to side with their son in her arms, gazing out at the same moon he was watching minutes ago. Ollie has long since fallen asleep again, and doesn’t stir when Matt comes up behind her and kisses her temple.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a bit concerned and regretting telling her anything.

Steph is silent for a long moment. She traces her thumb along Ollie's cheek, gently rubbing back and forth as she studies the moon like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Ollie mumbles in his sleep, face twisting in that way that suggests he's about to start crying, and Matt brings a hand to hold his head, closing over Steph's, and the baby quiets again, turning into his touch.

Matt stands there, swaying gently in place with his wife and his child, and he feels bad for his earlier moment of self deprecation. This tiny bundle of human knows and trusts him to take care of him. His wife worries every time he leaves her sight. He still gets little check up texts from Mark, Seán, and Felix—people he only secretly, in the comfort of his own mind, considered friends but who clearly care for him. And Nikita, the strongest-willed person he knows, trusts him above all others.

Maybe he doesn’t deserve to be here in place of the others, but there are people out there who are happy he is. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it has to be.

“So.” Steph turns her face to his. Her brown eyes glitter in the moonlight. “Magic and time travel and bullshit, huh?”

“It’s hard to wrap your head around, I know.”

“I believe you,” she tells him, and it’s like the entire weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. Matt sighs, pressing his forehead to hers. He hadn’t known how much he needed to hear that until she said it.

“What do we do?” she whispers. “These dreams—”

“We’ll figure it out,” he tells her. “We always do. And in the meantime I’ve got the support group thing, and I’ve got you, and you’ve got me, and we’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“I’ve heard that before.” It’s a tease, but not really. He’d said the same thing when he left for Everlock, when she’d begged him not to go. _It’s going to be fine. I promise._

Well. They’re not to _fine_ yet, but he technically hadn’t broken his promise. At least, not to her. There are plenty of other promises he’s broken, and plenty of secrets he has to keep. So they aren’t fine. But they’re getting there.

They’ll figure it out.

-

Somewhere in the back of his head, an achingly familiar voice rings out, a shouted echo climbing its way towards consciousness. _Be wary of the Society Against Evil. They’re not who you think they are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is? My shortest chapter yet? And I'm mad at myself for it but if I added to it then it would've been like six thousand words l o l so I guess the cemetery scene will have to be Eva's pov, oh well!
> 
> This took a minute to get to y'all because I definitely officially lost my notebook, which was pretty soul crushing, and now I'm gonna have to rewrite this outline since I remember NOTHING. It's fine I'm fine, I cried for days about it but I'm fine.
> 
> That last bit might look familiar so I wanna say just now that Lazarus Rising isn't canon in this universe, for obvious reasons, but the principle behind it? One hundred percent incorporating that into this fic, you're welcome or, conversely, I apologize. :P
> 
> One last thing: I realize that because each chapter is a different POV, certain things won't be seen or explained until another chapter, which was unintentional so I apologize for that, BUT I promise I'll be getting around to showing the reasons and reactions for everyone's, uh, actions. Might take a second, but you'll get answers. Probably.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting! Legitimately, losing my notebook made me want to quit, but I'm not gonna. This fic is too damn long and y'all have been too damn patient. So allons-y, buckle up chirren, we've got a long ways to go before we're finished with this!
> 
> Up next: Eva is starting to get suspicious.


	5. 4. Eva - pros and cons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pros and cons: the balancing of positive and negative outcomes before making a decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *technically pros and cons in the Distress Tolerance sense are more used for coping ahead (preparing for a certain outcome/deciding if you can handle said outcome) and I definitely didn't use it correctly here, I just wanted to give a lil disclaimer for that
> 
> no warnings, unless you think I need them! do let me know if you want something tagged and I will, I just want y'all to be safe <3
> 
> also, important question at the end so don't forget to read the end notes!

_Eva_

Figures that it’s raining the morning of the 21st.

Eva stands in the living room of her apartment, gazing out at the dreary weather. There’s something about early morning rain that gives her a kind of resigned peace. This is the first real rain of the season, which takes some of the sting away, but she can’t help but want to sink into bed and never leave it.

Depression’s been nipping at her heels for a while now, she acknowledges as she makes her way to the kitchen for some hot chocolate. She’d gone through a really bad episode in the aftermath of her and Oli’s return, and then again the month before Tyler and Andrea came back alive, and then _again_ when she’d found out Teala had fallen victim to this year’s slaughtering. Kicking it has been a challenge, but she feels better now that Oli’s here.

The warmth he gives her combats even the coldest rain. She sips at her cocoa and watches the sky lighten. Oli being here is confusing as hell but she has no idea why. Around him her hackles raise, but it isn’t that she’s scared of him or even for him. Protective mode is easy for her to slip into, especially around Tyler, and it extends to Oli as well—or at least it did, back when they were fighting for their lives. But now, he’s right there in front of her and every part of her is screaming that she needs to run. Why the hell is that a thing? Oli wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’d prank his friends with shock pens, but when it came to being malicious or cruel Oli failed on a spectacular level.

She scowls into her cup. This train of thought isn’t fun. Oli isn’t someone to be feared, and that isn’t the feel she gets from him anyway. She’s happy he’s here. It’s just that every time she thinks about it she gets a little panicky. Breath gets short, chest gets tight, and she feels warm but she doesn’t ever wanna stay.

It makes no sense.

Eva finishes her cocoa and goes to get ready. She has to meet the others in an hour. Even if Matt and Nikita don’t show, Oli will be there, so it won’t be as quiet or as lonely as when she and Tyler go by themselves.

Visiting the cemetery every 21st, the day she and Oli came back to 2016, has been a tradition ever since the first month. She’d found herself wandering, weeks after they’d been deposited on present day’s doorstep, alone and cold and lost and so, _so_ depressed. She walked until she found herself at the cemetery her friends were buried in. They were all buried together, in a cluster, either because it was easier or cheaper or whatever. It’s a private cemetery too, but Eva had climbed the tall fence and sat at Lele’s headstone and cried for what felt like hours.

She’d gotten a cold the next day, but it was worth it. A year later, she reached out to Tyler and Andrea, the first month they were back. Andrea never responded, but Tyler came with her. His friends were buried with hers, and the victims of this year’s slaughterings take up another section of the same cemetery, and she’s sure another year from now the groundskeeper will have to dig new graves for empty caskets, but for now there are 22 headstones in place of her friends. It’s still too many.

She and Tyler visit them every month. And now, Oli gets to come with them.

Sometimes the quiet is suffocating. Eva wants to say she prefers it, because she’s a lot of noise when she’s up, but the truth is she’s always, always lonely. She needs people, or something to talk to, even if it can’t talk back. But she’s already filmed the video that will go up on Monday, and Paris is sweet but cats are… cats. Maybe she needs a dog, she thinks to herself as she steps into her shower. Like, a service dog, maybe? She still has massive anxiety revolving around action movies and tv shows, or getting caught up in how she did everything right and still lost so much. Sometimes she gets so lonely she gets lost in her own head and she can’t pull herself out of it. She always wants to reach out to Tyler—and to Oli, now, maybe, now that he’s within reach—but she’s too scared of dragging them down with her when they all have such a precarious, tenuous hold on their own emotional stability.

 _That’s what group is for,_ she reminds herself. To strengthen that hold. And for them to find themselves.

Still. A dog couldn’t hurt.

-

It’s still raining, so she brings an umbrella to the cemetery. Tyler and Oli are already there. Oli turns and smiles at her and her heart thuds once before picking up double time. _Run,_ her brain is thinking. She smiles back at him instead. It’s freezing outside, even with her coat on, but when he smiles like that, her chest turns into a hearth.

“Hey girl,” Tyler greets as she reaches them. He looks comfy in his heavy tan overcoat and black leather gloves, while Oli has gone for a hoodie and some jeans. Tyler also has an umbrella, but Oli looks a bit like a drowned rat, his golden hair turning brown with rain.

“Aw, Oli,” she says with a laugh, and he shrugs.

“We’re used to rain in the UK,” he explains.

“You wanna share my umbrella?” she offers.

“I mean, if you’re tall enough.”

Eva mock scowls at him. “Excuse me, sir, I am five-seven! Five-ten with heels!”

“That means absolutely nothing to me.”

She rolls her eyes. Tyler looks between the two of them with a knowing smirk, which is suspicious as hell, but before she can say anything someone calls, “Hey guys!”

They all turn to find Matt jogging from the parking lot towards them. He’s wearing glasses, which makes him look more like a dad than he already is, and a black windbreaker. Eva smiles at the sight of him, pleasantly surprised. “You came!”

“Yeah, I—” He wheezes as he reaches them, bending over to put his hands on his knees. “Not great at running,” he mutters, before straightening. “I’ve been meaning to come, I just haven’t really gathered the courage yet. Also Steph and I have been busy, what with the baby and all.”

“Aw,” Eva says again. She peers behind him. “Nikita still didn’t want to come, huh?”

The smile on his face stutters a bit. “No, uh, she’s not ready, I guess.” He looks up at the gate welcoming visitors into the cemetery, glasses already swimming in rain. He adjusts them and asks, “Is it open?”

“Opens at nine,” Eva says, glancing at her phone. “So two minutes.”

“A lot can happen in two minutes,” Matt mutters. It sounds like a reference to something, and Eva peers at him, but his face gives nothing away as he strikes up a conversation with Tyler.

Eva doesn’t know what to make of the newcomers. Nikita’s funny, but she’s abrasive, and Matt seems open but she can’t shake the feeling that she can’t trust him. She’s learned to trust her instincts over the past couple of years, so even though they are fellow survivors, Lord knows that doesn’t make them trustworthy. Andrea is proof enough of that. She’ll have to keep an eye on them. Nikita seems like the bigger threat, but she isn’t here right now, so observing Matt’s behavior will have to do.

No one is going to hurt her friends again, not on her watch.

Anthony, the owner of the small cemetery, approaches from the other side of the gate. “Eva, Tyler,” he greets warmly, before raising his brows at the others. “Who are your friends?”

“Hi, Anthony!” Tyler chirps. “This is Oli and Matt.”

Oli gives an awkward wave that ends with him running a hand through his wet hair. “It’s my first time visiting as well,” he says to Matt, who’d taken a step back as Anthony goes to unlock the gate. “I basically flew back home immediately upon returning. Mum didn’t let me out of her sight for three weeks.”

Matt chuckles, but says nothing. Eva narrows her eyes at him.

No. She won’t do this today. Today is a day for mourning, and remembering her friends, and spending time with the ones she has. Nothing is going to ruin it. Not Matt’s odd behavior, not the rain, and not the butterflies that storm her gut every time Oli looks at her.

Something wriggles in the back of her brain, trying to tell her something, and she squashes it, refusing to acknowledge the thought.

Anthony opens the gate wide. “Place is yours,” he says. His voice is always gentle and kind. He’d been the one to find her at Lele’s plot that first day. She’d been there for hours, staring at the words written on her headstone. He had gathered her up, took her inside the visiting center, wrapped her in blankets and gave her hot chocolate. It’s always felt like home, and he’d always treated her, and Tyler, like family.

Eva touches his elbow as they pass him, thanking him without words, and he smiles at her.

The slaughtering victims are separated by year, so they’re all located in different sections of the cemetery. The rain continues to fall, slowing to a trinkle but not stopping enough for Eva to put her umbrella away. Tyler keeps his up as well, sharing with Matt, as they make their way towards the back left corner.

Eva doesn’t know much about cemeteries or graveyards, but she loves the feel of this one. It’s far from the city, so it’s quiet, tucked in a valley at the base of a mountain. It’s small, but there’s plenty of space. The visiting center—it doubles a funeral home, but the open area in the back is reserved for grieving families during funerals—stands in the middle, surrounded on all sides by neatly plotted headstones, trees, a handful of mausoleums, and statues of angels. The black fence borders the property. The families of those who died mutually agreed on this cemetery in particular. Eva hadn’t been a part of that meeting—she, Oli and Joey were being kept for observation at the time, half out of their minds with hysterics about monsters and evil houses and time traveling cars. Eventually they decided to “forget,” and that convinced the hospital to release them to their families, and each pair of survivors since has kept up the charade.

That’s one point in the positive column for these latest survivors, she guesses. Maybe she should keep track.

The sky is gray overhead, which seems fitting for a visit to the dead. They cross the distance towards the first one with ease, the silence stretching on between them. Conversation had died the second they crossed the threshold, a hush descending on the group as if a spell was cast. There is no sound but the rain on umbrella canvas and the odd car driving down a road some ways away.

Shane’s grave is first. It’s black and shiny in the morning rain. The words _“Gone too soon”_ are etched into the stone. Eva suspects the people who put it there have no idea. They all stop here. Oli touches it, remembering.

“I wanted to save him,” he murmurs. “I tried.”

Eva’s told Tyler what happened that night, in detail, how each of her friends died, but at Oli’s words her knees go weak. He knows. He was there. She hadn’t realized how much she _needed_ someone who knew how it felt to watch Shane wither away—having to lie there with Arthur’s hand on his shoulder, watching them scramble in a mess to save him and fail. It was a death that wasn’t required. Just a cruel and abrupt lesson. They failed the Youtube community, the world as a whole. They let Shane die.

It goes on like that. They linger in Eva and Oli’s section, touching each headstone as Oli tries to figure out how to feel. Eva’s been through this tens of dozens of times now but watching her partner’s reaction to each one feels like she’s experiencing it for the first time. There’s quiet grief in Oli’s face with every grave he reaches. Even Matt—Haag, Matt Haag—is silently mourned as they make their way through the section.

Tyler’s is next. They move through it faster, but only because there’s only one survivor of this era present. The thought leaves a sour taste in Eva’s mouth as she watches Tyler murmur a few words to Alex’s grave. She’d scrolled through Andrea’s twitter the other day, just to see. Or maybe as a punishment for herself. It’s full of ridiculous things. Promotions of her “storytime!” vlogs of things she doubts really happened, beef with some other creator complete with memes and snarky clapbacks, merch links. The usual. It reads like a typical Youtube vlogger’s timeline, but it shouldn’t. Andrea isn’t a typical Youtube vlogger. She’s one of them. A survivor.

Eva isn’t sure if it’s the denial of her role as a survivor that makes her the most angry, or the fact that Tyler is so torn up over it even after all this time. She’d never really thought of herself as the Mom Friend but when it comes to Tyler Oakley, she’s willing to move heaven and earth to make him happy. Tyler kept her sane in the year between his slaughtering and now. Tyler picked her up when she couldn’t go on. Tyler came up with the idea for group therapy. Tyler put Oli up in his apartment so he could move here. Oli is her partner but Tyler is her best friend, and Andrea hurt him, and it’s so far from acceptable that Eva chokes on rage when she thinks about it.

She doesn’t want to think about it now. She shoves the image of Andrea’s face away as they reach the newest section of graves. Matt freezes at the edge of it. Tyler hangs back, as he’s Matt’s umbrella partner, watching him as the older man gazes out at the headstones lying in two neat rows.

“Take your time,” Oli says in the most gentle voice possible; it’s a whisper on the rainfall around them.

Matt swallows. “I thought I was ready,” he laughs, but his voice breaks in quite a few places, and Eva suddenly feels bad. Not everyone is an enemy. Nikita might not be here, but Matt is. Another mark in the positive column.

It takes another minute of Matt breathing deeply before he can move. The first grave is Teala’s, and Eva goes with him as he stands at it. It’s simple, but pretty, and glistening in the rain. Matt’s voice cracks the stillness.

“It was my fault she died.”

She leans away from him with a frown, but he just keeps talking. “It was a team challenge, and our team lost. We could only vote for the people on our team. If we’d just won…” He shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying. His brown hair curls in the rain.

“Matt—”

“It’s not my fault,” he tells her, finally meeting her eyes. “I know that. Logically, when I’m clear-headed, I know that. But…” He gives a half smile. “I haven’t been very clear-headed these days. I’m sorry. I know you were friends.”

 _Friends_ doesn’t suffice, to be honest. She was one of her closest friends. Eva loved that girl dearly. Her heart had shattered when she heard she’d gone missing, crumbled away when she didn’t come back. Eva wants to hate him. She wants to be furious with his failure.

She’s tired.

Oli touches JC’s gravestone when they pass. Matt stumbles a step, but no one notices but Eva. They reach Ro’s in record time. She has a stone angel standing behind her gravestone, holding with delicate hands like it’ll break if it handles it too roughly. Matt sinks to his knees in front of it and cries.

Eva just stands there, holding the umbrella over him as he weeps. She doesn’t know this man, but she knew Ro. Everyone knew Ro. Ro was amongst the most beloved of Youtubers, as pure and sweet as her confections, with a kindness none of them ever deserved. She and Matt were good friends, Eva knows. She’s seen the way they interact in Ro’s videos—the two were close enough to be siblings. The internet had dubbed them the Pines twins of Youtube. Eva doesn’t pretend to know anything about that, but she knows the bond they shared was intimate and real.

The rain eases a little. Matt’s tears ebb. He sits on his knees, quiet for a moment, before saying, “Sorry.” His voice is destroyed.

“Don’t be,” Tyler says. He and Oli had joined Eva in standing behind him, but now Tyler kneels next to him so he can put a hand on his shoulder. “She would’ve wanted you to wait till you were ready. You know that.”

“I know that,” Matt echoes, sounding hollow. He touches the wet grass below. It’s grown over the plot nicely, but Eva suspects it serves as a reminder of just how long it’s been since the grave was planted.

“How can I be here when she isn’t?” Miserable tears trickle down his cheeks. It’s odd to watch such a private thing when she doesn’t know Matt all that well. Grief seems personal, like something you shouldn’t witness.

 _Matt is one of us,_ she tells herself firmly, no matter how hard she’s finding it to trust him. He grieves the same way they do. He has his own hurdles to overcome. He cares. He’s not Andrea.

So why does she feel like—

“You’ve gotta let this go, mate,” Oli prods, tearing Eva from that train of thought before it really gets going. “You have to forgive yourself for being able to survive. Believe me, we know.”

Tyler smiles at him. “You think I would want to be here when Alex isn’t?”

“Yeah, or me in place of Lele?” Oli adds. “Or Shane?”

At that, Matt’s head shoots up, startling the others. He gazes out into the distance with wide eyes, like he’s remembering something, and mutters something under his breath that none of them catch.

Tyler frowns and leans in. “What?”

But Matt stands abruptly, causing the others to take a step back. “I gotta go,” he says, and he all but sprints back towards the front of cemetery. When he reaches the gate, he turns and shouts, “I’ll see you on Sunday!” And then he’s gone.

Oli looks at her and Tyler, completely bewildered. “What the hell was that about?”

Eva doesn’t know, but she narrows her eyes at the place where Matt disappeared. It’s a weird reaction to have, and definitely marks up a big fat point in the negative column. If she’s going by pros and cons, that makes two positives and a negative, so by all means she should trust him. Two pros to one con.

But it’s a pretty heavy con.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, things are heating up!
> 
> So, you guys, as I'm generating interest in this (and finding myself floundering a bit in the financial sense), I wanted to check: if I were to make a Patreon, would anyone be willing to support me? I have a couple of things planned if this does get a bit of a following (like maybe getting chapters first, any possible side stories, summaries for future stories, and possibly any unfinished drabbles I have kicking around in my documents?). Everyone would still have access to this story of course, just, if you wanted a little more, I could make that available to you!
> 
> So if this is a thing people might be interested in, please go to my twitter page (twitter.com/CinderScoria) and vote in the poll set up there as my pinned tweet, or comment below if you don't have Twitter! Also hi I have a twitter, if you wanna follow me feel free, I complain about characters a lot and post way too many selfies :P
> 
> Thanks, you guys! <3
> 
> Up next: Tyler moderates another group session and feels like maybe he's in over his head.


	6. 5. Tyler - self soothe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> self soothe - stimulating the senses to distract oneself from being flooded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings! I wrote a fluffy ass chapter! I know, I'm astounded, this is the happiest thing I've ever written for this fandom.

_ Tyler _

Oli wrinkles his nose as Myling hands him his mug. “And what’s in this one?”

Myling gives him the stink eye. “Drink it and you’ll find out.”

“But I liked the last one.”

“And you’ll like this one too.” She rolls her eyes in Tyler’s direction. “Your boy needs to learn some manners, Tyler.”

Tyler laughs as Oli reddens, mumbling an apology that isn’t needed if the twinkle in Myling’s eye is anything to go by. “C’mon, stud,” he teases, pulling the bigger man away. “We gotta go get set up.”

Oli sips at his drink so that it doesn’t spill on their way to the piano room. His brows shoot up. “Oh, that is good.”

“See, she knows what you like even before you do. She’s psychic like that.” They reach the piano room and set down their stuff. It took both of them heaving heavy packs to bring everything that they needed for this session, and Tyler is sweating, despite the fall weather descending fast on the city outside. Maybe he should start working out.

They still have fifteen minutes to set up. Oli sets his drink down on the stage and helps Tyler pull the random things they brought from the house. Tyler lets the silence stretch for a solid thirty seconds before he turns to his friend and crosses his arms. “All right, what’s going on with you?”

Oli pauses from where he’s pulled a stuffed rabbit from his backpack. “What? Nothing.”

“You’ve been quiet since Friday. Like,  _ really _ quiet, Oli. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, we’re roommates now remember?” Tyler softens, gnawing on his lip. “I mean, is it something I did? This is kind of new to both of us, I just want to know what I can do to help fix it.”

There’s a lengthy pause as Oli deliberates, gazing at him with an agonized stare, like he wants to tell him but is afraid to. Tyler knows that feeling. Of course he does. But he’s never wanted anyone,  _ especially _ Oli, to feel like he couldn’t come to him when something was bothering him. Maybe Tyler’s been a bit distant too, lately—he’s struggling with accepting that Andrea just isn’t coming back, that Nikita might turn out to be the same, that Matt could be heading in that direction too if he isn’t careful. Sure, Matt texted him later to apologize for running off, but he hadn’t explained why he did in the first place. If this is a repeat thing, the only common denominator here is Tyler himself. He doesn’t want to be a problem for Oli, too. Especially since they live together.

Oli’s shoulders slump. “I’m… homesick.”

“... What?”

“I just—” He hunches in on himself. “I’m just homesick. It’s ridiculous, I text my brother every day, I call my mum just to hear her voice, but I’ve never been away from home this long and I think it’s… just now hitting me that I can’t exactly call it “home” anymore, can I?” Agitation makes him pick up speed and volume. “All around me, I hear voices that just remind me that I’m not in England anymore, and it’s like a wakeup call every time. It’s a reminder that I don’t belong. I feel like I’m floundering and I don’t want to miss it because I don’t regret moving here, I  _ don’t, _ but I can’t help it, I don’t know how not to want to be here, I don’t know how not to miss a place that’s half a world away.”

“Oh, honey,” is all Tyler can say, because he’d known this would be hard on Oli but he didn’t think it’d be  _ this _ hard.

“You’ve been amazing to me,” Oli continues, frowning at the little rabbit he holds in his hands. “You and Eva have been fantastic so I  _ want _ to be here, it’s just hard. I know that eventually it won’t feel like I’m failing at adjusting, but… that just feels so far off.”

Tyler scoots a bit closer to him and takes his free hand. He squeezes it. “Do you want to go back to the UK?”

_ “No.” _ Oli’s brown eyes are earnest when he meets Tyler’s. “I love it here. I do. I want to stay.”

“Wow, you guys,” says Eva from the doorway. “This looks hella gay.”

Oli yelps and yanks his hand from Tyler’s grip. Tyler smirks, knowing it’s because of his monumental crush on his survival partner. “How long were you standing there?” the Brit demands.

“Long enough to take a picture of it,” she sing-songs, waving her phone as she all but skips up to the stage to show them.

“Oh my god, delete that,” Tyler insists.

“Never, it’s going on Instagram.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And you love me.” Eva turns to Oli, who looks about the color of a tomato. “So, I really only caught the tail end of that. Are you homesick?”

“I mean, yeah,” he mutters, still embarrassed, “but I’ll get over it.”

“Would it help if we brought a little bit of the UK to you?”

He perks up a little. “How?”

Eva shrugs. “I dunno, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. After the session, sound good?” She turns to Tyler. “I can drive him home if you’d like.”

Oli shakes his head vigorously at Tyler, who barely contains his smirk. “Sure, that sounds like a great idea,” he says. Oli scowls at him, but it disappears the second Eva turns back to him. Tyler rolls his eyes.

Straights.

Matt is the next to arrive. He smiles when he sees them, though he looks a little tired. Tyler surveys the bags under his eyes. “Still not sleeping much, huh?”

“Nightmares,” is his answer, before he turns to the table where the random knick knacks Tyler had found in his attic are laid out for all to see. “What have you got for us today?”

“You’ll see,” Tyler says, enjoying the exasperation that crosses Matt’s face.

There’s no hint of the panic that caused him to bolt two days ago, which Tyler takes as a good sign. He doesn’t want to push, especially since Matt told him it wasn’t anything he’d done, just something personal he needed to get over with, but he’s also  _ very _ curious.

Also curious is the way Eva’s eyes narrowed at Matt when he came in. What’s that about? Eva’s the funnest (most fun? how do people say that) person he knows, she’s easy going and open minded and yeah, Matt running off was a little weird, but he doesn’t think it’s weird enough to warrant  _ that _ reaction. Maybe he should talk to her later.

Nikita is the last to arrive, but at least she came at all. Tension he hadn’t known he was holding in his shoulders dissipates as she walks into the room with all the confidence of a supermodel. She arches an eyebrow in their direction, tossing her pink hair over her shoulder. “What? I came, didn’t I?”

Tyler smiles at her. “We’re happy you’re here.”

She gives him an odd look that he can’t decipher, but doesn’t comment on what he said. And with that, the group is (relatively) complete, and Tyler can start the session.

“Today,” he explains, “is about self soothing. In any given, emotionally charged situation, you have two options. You can problem solve, or you can self soothe. What you decide to do depends on how flooded you are in the moment. So like—” He holds up his hands, palms up, miming a scale. “Imagine something happens and it’s really upsetting. And let’s say your threshold for bullshit you can handle rationally is a scale of one to a hundred. Your set capacity could be anywhere from, like, a twenty to like a seventy. So in this instance, let’s say it’s fifty. This thing that upsets you happens, but it’s only, like, a thirty on your scale. If you can think rationally, then you problem solve. If it’s higher than your set capacity, then obviously you’re too flooded to try to solve whatever happened, so instead what you do is self soothe. You get yourself to a place where you can think rationally again. 

“We’ll talk about problem solving next week, but for now we’re gonna focus on what we can do in order to calm ourselves down. There are lots of different ways to do that, like controlled breathing, or TIP, but what we’re gonna do today is soothing the five senses.” Tyler gestures behind him. “On the table are a bunch of stuff I found in my attic—yes it’s a lot, don’t drag me, I don’t wanna talk about my hoarding problem.” This brings a round of chuckles from the group, and Tyler grins. “Anyway, on the floor are some old shoe boxes, so what we’re gonna do is come up and find one thing that’s pleasing to see, one thing that’s pleasing to smell, and so on and so forth for all the senses we have. We’re gonna make Hope Boxes. Sound okay?”

Matt raises his hand. “Uh, Teach, the candies in that bowl aren’t also from your attic, are they?”

Tyler points a finger at him. “Um, excuse me, how dare you? I’ll have you know that those candies have been in my family for generations.”

“We picked them up from Target earlier today,” Oli offers.

“Traitor,” Tyler says with a pout. “No but yeah, they aren’t expired, you’ll be totally fine. Probably.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Tyler has them come up one at a time. He’s already created his hope box—what’s essentially a box full of trinkets and notes to combat flooding, a source of comfort they could use to self soothe. Each of them pick something different for each of their senses. Eva picks the velvet rabbit Oli was playing with earlier for her touch object, while Matt chooses a pen that clicks loudly for sound. Nikita takes one of the sample vials of perfume Tyler got in the mail once, remarking, “This smells expensive.”

In all, it’s a good session. Eva loosens up a bit around Matt, though she flat out glares at Nikita when she isn’t looking and that’s a little concerning. Tyler has each of them reveal what they chose for their hope boxes and why, and then he has them write little notes of encouragement to themselves and each other to go along with it. By the time the session ends, they’re all laughing at each other and hanging out like real friends are supposed to do.

So why does his chest ache?

“Same time next week?” Matt jokes as they start to shuffle out. Eva and Oli already left to go shopping for stuff that will hopefully help Oli feel a little less homesick, while Nikita had hefted her hope box under her arm and flicked a wave and a “bye bitch” over her shoulder.

“If you can swing it.” Tyler stoops so he can gather up the remaining knick knacks, and Matt kneels to help him.

At Tyler’s questioning look, Matt explains, “I noticed your pack mule ditched you for a pretty face.”

Tyler barks out a surprised laugh. “You see it too, huh?”

“It’s kind of adorable, to be honest.”

“She’s good for him, I think,” he says, taking the strip of velcro Matt hands him from the other side of the table. “This is a  _ huge _ change for him and I don’t know how to help. Eva’s just better about stuff like that. She’s good with people.”

Matt grimaces a little. “Not sure she likes me all that much.”

“She’s…” Tyler has to contemplate that one. “Protective, I think. She can be kinda scary when you make her mad.”

“I’ll be sure to try to get on her good side then,” Matt says dryly.

“You should.” Tyler stops what he’s doing and turns to him, serious for a second. “You two, of all people, would get along  _ really  _ well if you just… found some middle ground.”

Matt studies him. What he sees, Tyler doesn’t know. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “And you?”

“Hm?”

“What’s good for you?”

The question throws him off a little. Tyler stares at Matt, who has gone back to sorting through trinkets and putting them into boxes, as if he’d never spoken. “What do you mean?” he asks once he’s found his voice.

Matt sits back on his haunches. “Well,” he muses, “don’t take this the wrong way, Tyler, but despite all the work you’ve done—even before the slaughterings, too, and it’s very impressive by the way—you aren’t exactly a mental health professional. You came up with the idea for group therapy, didn’t you?”

“I—yes?”

“And you’re moderating it? You draw up the lesson plans, you bring the props, you bring us back when we’re starting to get off topic?”

Tyler frowns, starting to get defensive. “What do you suggest I do, hand it off to someone more qualified? No one can know the truth about us, Matt.”

“No, I know. And I’m sure you can handle it. Sorry, could you hold this for me?” He hands Tyler a Diet Coke, which Tyler takes with the thought that Matt might be addicted to the soda. The older man buries his head under the table, trying to reach whatever he’d dropped that rolled under the stage. His voice comes out muffled when he says, “But Tyler, no offense, but you’re not exactly participating in the activities you give us.”

“That’s because I’ve done them already,” Tyler tells him, tapping his foot, watching Matt’s backside before he realized how that would look and then averting his gaze. “I was in DBT the first couple months after Andrea and I returned from the slaughtering, I know what I’m doing.”

“Sure,” Matt agrees, pulling his head out from under the stage. He’s retrieved a perfectly round marble that Tyler would’ve been fine leaving under there, to be honest. “Still,” he continues, springing back to his feet. “You’re human, just like the rest of us. You’re a survivor, just like the rest of us. You’re going through recovery, just like the rest of us.”

“What’s your point?”

Matt sighs. “My point is that you might feel a little bit better if you showed us Tyler Oakley the person, more than Tyler Oakley the group therapy moderator. You’re taking on a lot of responsibility, and sure you can handle it  _ now _ but what happens months down the line when you can’t?”

Tyler sets his jaw, a little hurt at the insinuation. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah? With or without our help?”

“Matt—” Tyler runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t have a choice, here. I’m not okay, and Oli isn’t okay, and Eva probably isn’t okay even though she says she is, and you and Nikita—”

“Definitely aren’t okay,” Matt finishes for him. “So what makes you think you can fix all of us?”

“I—” To his shock, hot tears sting in his eyes. Tyler blinks fast, looking away. This isn’t a reaction he was expecting at all. “Who else is going to do it? Who else is willing to try?”

“Tyler.” Matt waits until he’s looking at him again. His eyes are odd. Intelligence flickers in the brown irises, but so does a compassion so intense it aches. It isn’t an expression Tyler is used to.

He waits, but Matt doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches on, and Tyler’s hand is starting to cramp from holding the Diet Coke aloft for so long. He gestures with it. “Are you, uh. Are you gonna take this back?”

Matt just looks at him. “I thought you could handle it.”

“I mean, it isn’t heavy, it’s just—” 

A thought occurs to him. It strikes him right between the eyes. He gapes at Matt, who grins back at him. “Did you just…”

Matt takes the soda from his hand. “I majored in psychology, remember? Or, well, neuroscience. Same thing.”

“You asshole,” Tyler says, still stunned. “I can’t believe you just reverse-psychology’d me.”

“Listen, Tyler.” Matt gives him a small smile as he hands him the shoeboxes, now filled with the remaining trinkets. “It’s okay to let others hold it when you can’t anymore. And it’s okay if you can’t anymore. But there are five of us. We can work out a system, I think.” He aims a mock punch to his shoulder that ends rather gentle. “And don’t be afraid to be Tyler the person. You’re our teacher, but you’re our friend, too.”

“Are we friends?” Tyler wonders.

“Well if we aren’t, this whole conversation just got a whole lot more awkward in retrospect, didn’t it?” Matt winks at him on his way out, leaving Tyler standing there with his arms full of shoeboxes.

-

Oli comes home late carrying four shopping bags. Tyler’s waiting for him in the kitchen, scribbling lesson plans in his notebook. He looks up when he comes in, laughing at the new Union Jack Oli’s carrying between his teeth.

“Shopping went well, I see,” he comments as Oli puts the bags down and takes the flag out of his mouth.

“That girl is terrifying,” Oli complains. “Did you know she took me to three different malls?  _ Three. _ And then we went to a skatepark and she tried to teach me how to longboard. I don’t even know what a longboard  _ is.” _

Tyler giggles. “Sounds like you spent some quality time together.”

Oli scowls at him. “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. I don’t even know what to say to her. Sometimes when she looks at me I forget my own name. Or how to form sentences. Or how to breathe.”

“That is… disgustingly adorable.”

“I know, I hate it.” The bigger man peers at his notes. “What are you working on?”

Tyler hesitates. “So… I was thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, mate.”

“Shut up. I was thinking that we’re all survivors or whatever you wanna call us, and that’s fine, but we really only meet up to talk about survivor stuff. I mean, why don’t we hang out, just us, as friends?”

Oli gives him an odd look. “I literally just spent four hours shopping with Eva.”

“No, I mean, you and I are friends,” Tyler says, gesturing between the two of them, “and Eva and I are friends, and you and Eva are soulmates destined to be together for all eternity—”

_ “Tyler.” _

“—but Matt and Nikita, they’d fit in really well but all we ever talk about are things that are, like, emotionally charged.” Tyler adjusts his glasses. “So I was thinking, Matt’s been having really bad nightmares and you, like, never sleep ever, so what if we had a sleepover?”

“... What.”

“A sleepover! Y’know, we invite everyone over and wear PJs and have pillow fights and movie marathons or whatever.”

He holds his breath, watching Oli mull it over. Finally, he says, “Yeah, I suppose that would be a good idea. It’d be nice to get to know the others in a setting that isn’t, like, “here, reveal all your deepest personal traumas” and stuff.”

“Exactly!” Tyler beams at him. “So you think it’s a good idea?”

Oli gives him a rather fond smile. “Yeah, Tyler, it’s a good idea. But I think maybe you should let Eva do the planning. That seems right up her alley.”

“Perfect.” Tyler turns back to his notebooks, then pauses and faces Oli again. “Hey, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Letting me be Tyler the Person.”

To his credit, Oli doesn’t try to figure that out. He simply says, “You’re welcome,” and drapes the new flag over his shoulders, picks up his bags, and heads back upstairs.

If this works, Tyler thinks, maybe they can make it a regular thing. Maybe they don’t have to function as a group of people who survived a massacre. Maybe they can just be a group of friends.

If it sounds like wishful thinking, well. He isn’t quite ready to acknowledge it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a filler, I know, but I promise you the next three (? or so?) chapters will be quite the rollercoaster ;)
> 
> an update on the Patreon thing: I didn't get a single no! (well, one of the options was "I would love to but I can't afford to", but don't worry I'm working on that!) I just wanna thank all y'all who are willing to go the extra mile with me. I've decided to create my Patreon, and next chapter will outline all that my supporters will receive from me in exchange for being such lovely people. And if you can't afford to or don't want to support me, that's okay too! You'll still get your regularly scheduled content, not to worry there. We still have a long, long ways to go.
> 
> Last thing, I know these author's notes get real long lol: I have redone my mapout and adjusted the number of chapters accordingly. Oh! And came up with a new idea for the series, so this is no longer a trilogy! It's a saga :)
> 
> Up next: Nikita and Matt do some hoo-doo, voodoo, witchcraft nonsense.


	7. 6. Nikita - alternative rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternative rebellion: nondestructive ways to express rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I literally always have to just tag on a language warning for all that is Nikita. Like god bless but also, please wash your mouth out with soap.
> 
> Also! THIS IS NOT PROPER HYPNOSIS. DO NOT TRY AT HOME. I want to make that very clear because I try to be as accurate as possible, but I avoided that here for two reasons: a) because Matt's case is... special and b) because I'm going off of how my mom used to hypnotize people. Oh yeah. That's a thing.
> 
> Just be careful and mindful and please hypnotize responsibly. Like if you really wanna learn there are tutorials, don't go by my lazy ass.
> 
> Ok! On with the story!

_Nikita_

Nikita swings the door open and pops her hip, saying, “I still think this is a shit idea.”

Matt cracks a smile. “Duly noted.”

Her expression sours even more than it already was, but she steps aside to let him into her apartment. He hasn’t been back in a couple weeks, ever since they put the finishing touches on the repairs to her living space. Nikita doesn’t want to admit she misses the guy. It’s embarrassing. And Matt isn’t the type to lord it over her, but _she_ knows it’s true. And that the idea that being away from him for any extended period of time makes her panicky, which only serves to make her more panicky, because what kind of desperate, alarmingly codependent bullshit is _that?_

Matt reaches her living room and helps her move the coffee table off to the side so that they can sit down on the rug. As she draws the curtains and he sets up the candles, she says, “So just… run this by me again? Why are we trying to hypnotize you?”

He sits back on his heels. “I have been having these nightmares—”

“Join the club.”

“They’re not the normal nightmares, Nikita.”

She turns at the seriousness in his voice. It’s not something she hears very often. He doesn’t look at her, arranging the candles in a circle that looks vaguely satanic. His brown bangs fall into his eyes, masking them from sight. His hair’s getting a little long, he should really get a haircut.

When she doesn’t answer, he sighs and says, “I _know_ that they’re trying to tell me something, I can feel it, but I can’t remember what it is. And I can’t hypnotize myself, I need to be led, but I also can’t tell the others about this—”

“Why not?”

Matt throws her a startled look, and she elaborates, “You said this group thing, it’s supposed to be a safe space, right? I bet they know a lot more about this psychic dream shit than we do.”

He purses his lips. “I… can’t.”

Nikita doesn’t have the patience for this. “Okay, for what reason, exactly?”

“Because it—” He huffs, frustrated. “It happens after I die.”

“Yes? And?”

“And I can’t tell them I died, Nikita.”

_“Why the hell not?”_

“Because!” He flounders for words. “Just—because!”

Nikita rolls her eyes. “Matt, you’re being so fucking ridiculous—”

“I _can’t do it,_ Nikita,” he cuts her off, and there’s such pain in his voice she chokes on the insult before it’s all the way out. “I can’t do it, please don’t ask me to.”

 _Please don’t ask me to._ Doesn’t that sound familiar. It’s awfully close to the words she’d thrown at him a week ago over the phone at three in the morning, in the midst of an emotional breakdown worse than almost anything she’s had in a while, courtesy of the fear that if she didn’t go to the cemetery with the others she was going to lose them. Matt had given her permission not to go if she couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t it be right to return the favor?

Nikita’s getting the awful feeling she’s being manipulated, but whatever. She doesn’t understand, but it isn’t her secret to tell. If Matt wants to keep it from the others, she has zero right to take that from him, no matter how much she disagrees with it.

“Okay, but why me?”

“Because hypnosis only works if you want to be hypnotized,” he answers. “You need to be able to trust the person hypnotizing you. And I’ll admit, I’ve got some trust issues.”

“But you trust me.”

“Yeah.” He gives her a small, embarrassed smile. “I trust you.”

That’s a mistake, Nikita thinks, but she doesn’t voice the thought. Instead, she sits down across from him, holding his hands like her instructions tell her to. “You sure about this?” she asks, trying to mask the worry in her voice.

Matt laughs, not disguising his own anxiety. “Not even close. But… I _need_ to do this.”

“Okay.” It’s his funeral. Nikita winces inwardly, because that’s an awful choice of words, but he doesn’t see it because his eyes are closed. This feels way too similar to the séance that took them to 1978. Nikita’s hands tighten on Matt’s, and he squeezes back, misinterpreting her minute panic and offering comfort where he could.

They can do this. It’s gonna be fine.

She reads carefully from the list of instructions Matt had sent her. “Count up to one hundred out loud, as evenly as you can.”

“One… two… three… four…”

Why did she agree to this, she wonders as he counts. When he’d pulled her aside after the group therapy session on Sunday, asking if she could help hypnotize him, her first instinct was to slap him across the face. Honestly why the _fuck_ would you dabble in this mind-trick bullshit again? Had he not learned his lesson when they literally got possessed by ghosts and time travelled forty years in the past? Or when Mortimer got his ass brainwashed because he didn’t know not to mess with evil ass artifacts?

But Matt had flashed his earnest puppy eyes at her and Lord knows she’s weak to that sort of thing, _especially_ from him. Nikita scowls at her partner as his monotonous voice reaches the fifties. Maybe she’s weak, period. She didn’t used to be. She’s weathered every scandal, every hate comment, every falling out with friends. She’s survived a massacre, for fuck’s sake, she should be able to stand her ground when she knows this can’t possibly end well.

But… it’s Matt. Matt who hugged her after the afterlife deposited him on the Lounge’s doorstep, even though he had no reason to before. Matt who comforted her in the seconds after Manny’s death. Matt, the first person she let back into her apartment, who has zero reason to like or trust her and does anyway.

It’s a weird kind of love that exists between the two of them, she muses as he reaches the seventies. It isn’t romantic and isn’t sexual—he’s handsome but not at all her type, plus he’s like a decade older than her and that’s just weird. It isn’t familial—he’s not like her dad, or an older brother. It’s platonic, but deeper than that, a bond born from _having_ to trust that this person will have your back, forced reliance that translates now into “this is the only person on the planet I can tell everything.”

She used to feel that way about Manny. Or at least she thought she did.

“One hundred.” Matt wavers expectantly, but doesn’t open his eyes.

Nikita keeps her voice even. “Now count down from a hundred.” As he counts she strokes a thumb across his to the rhythm. It’s something her mama used to do when tucking her in at night. She fights against the pull of sleep by digging her acrylics into her other palm, thinking of Manny.

They’re not so different, really. Both are very strong and very kind-hearted. Both tried to lie about it. Both failed when it came to their friends being in danger. Nikita had always scoffed, watching Matt try to bluff and miss the mark. He cared so much, light spilled out of him at every turn. He’d ached for JC and Teala, cried when Ro had gone in for her challenge. Shook with rage and grief at Safiya’s death.

Held her after Manny’s.

Matt starts skipping numbers. It takes her a second to notice, and when she does she’s very careful to keep her touch consistent and feather-light on his skin. He sways a bit before his chin dips. He stops counting. Nikita holds her breath for a second, just watching him, before letting it out.

“Matt, can you hear me?”

It takes a second, and then Matt mumbles, “Yes.” He sounds dazed and—Nikita hates to say it—dead.

Nikita continues to run her thumb up and down Matt’s wrist, trying to slow her racing heart. This is fucking terrifying. She glances at the instructions she’s printed out. “All right, Matt, you are sleeping. It’s a normal night. You’re lying with your wife and you’ve just started to dream. It’s the same dream you have every night. Can you describe to me what you’re seeing?”

Another pause, and Matt’s head tilts a bit to the side, like he’s observing his surroundings. “I’m in front of the arcade,” he says, tone still flat as a penny. “It’s nighttime. Manny just won the arm wrestling challenge.”

Her heart gives a jolt. It’s odd to hear his name spoken aloud so casually. Nowadays it feels dirty, like a secret too damaging to tell. The detonator to a bomb long since overdue. Nikita swallows. “That’s good. What else?”

“He’s cheering. He’s so happy. Behind him, Nikita, Joey, and Colleen are happy too. Ro…” Her name comes out strangled, and Nikita feels a pang of empathy. “She’s looking at me. She’s crying. Wilmer—”

“Who’s Wilmer?”

“The Strong Man.”

Nikita blinks. “How the hell do you know his name?”

“Ro told me.”

 _How the hell does she know his name?_ Nikita wonders, but it isn’t relevant so she doesn’t ask. “What does Wilmer do?”

“He grabs me. He asks me if I’m ready to die. He tells me I’m going to.”

Nikita hadn’t heard that bit. She’d been jumping up and down, overwhelmed with joy and relief and smug satisfaction. Her boy did it, she knew he would. Of course. Of course he was stronger than Matt.

Matt’s grip tightens as he starts to shake. “I can see Ro. I don’t want her to watch. Wilmer throws me on the ground. It hurts. I think of Stephanie—”

“You’re safe,” Nikita tries to soothe, but Matt can’t seem to hear her. He gasps and reels backwards as if he’s been struck. His back hits the couch and he slumps against it.

 _“Matt?”_ It comes out like a shriek as he convulses again, and then one more time, and then goes completely still.

The word _panic_ doesn’t even come close to describing the levels of fear that course through Nikita. Her veins wash ice cold. Matt’s face is slack from where it rests on the cushion of the couch. Nikita forgoes any kind of common sense and scrambles towards him, taking his face in both hands and shaking him.

“Matt? Matt wake up. Matt _wake up,_ Matt, oh my god oh my god Matt please wake up, _please—”_

Tears are streaming down her face. She doesn’t even notice them dropping onto her arms, onto the white carpet below, staining it gray. The candles flicker in the dimness of the living room, but it does nothing to comfort her. Nikita’s wishing for light, for air, for Matt to wake up _right now_ and stop scaring the shit out of her. She knew this was a bad idea! She knew it! And now Matt is lying here and he’s _so_ still and she doesn’t think he’s breathing and it might be the trick of the light but she could _swear_ his left cheek is turning a mottled _purple—_

Matt inhales. His eyes fly open and he sucks in a huge breath. His skin returns to its normal Typical White Boy Who Can’t Tan shade of beige, and he starts coughing, choking on air.

Nikita doesn’t care. She pulls him into a crushing hug. “Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again!”

He’s too stunned to move for a second. “Nikita, are you… are you crying?”

“Yes, you fucking asshole!”

His arms come up to clutch her close. They’re both shaking. That was way too close. They’re not doing this again, nope, she’s never listening to anything he ever requests of her _ever again._

It takes a minute for them to calm down. Nikita’s highkey reluctant to let go, but the candles are still burning and she isn’t one for physical affection in any capacity, no matter how nice Matt’s hugs are.

“What the fuck happened?” she demands as they sit back.

Matt rubs at his forehead before tucking his fingers into his hair. “I don’t know, I don’t remember anything past, like, seeing the lights of the Ferris wheel.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything about that. Nikita’s lip trembles and she bites down on it before he can notice. “I was trying to walk you through it,” she tells him, clutching the papers like they’re a lifeline. “I did everything you said, but when we got to the part where you died, it was like—”

She gestures helplessly at him and feels an unhealthy amount of rage at the idea of it. The candles flicker with her, casting shadows like they’re responding to her fury. She is not _helpless._ But there was also nothing she could do to pull Matt out of the trance.

Matt shakes his head. “I don’t remember,” he confesses.

He looks lost and confused. He looks scared, rattled, he’s shaky just like she is. Nothing in his face or voice gives anything away.

And Nikita can’t explain it, but she knows in her heart that he’s lying.

They silently put the candles out and open the curtains again. The gray morning light spills into her apartment, turning it from shadowy satanic dungeon back into a home she feels safe and comfortable in. It’s not so scary in the light. She feels a little ridiculous for getting so panicky at the thought that he could’ve died. That she thought he had.

Maybe more so at the thought that she’d been the one to kill him.

“Are you going to the sleepover tomorrow?” Matt asks as he packs his backpack with the candles.

“At Tyler’s?” At Matt’s nod, she wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know, it sounds…”

“Childish?” he guesses.

“Super immature, yeah.”

“Never took you for the type to turn down a sleepover,” he tells her with a grin, and she points a manicured nail at him.

“Hey, I’m not all “glamour and fashion” typical girly-girl, Matthew, I have _depth.”_ His eyebrows shoot up in response. Nikita frowns. “What?”

“Nothing, you just… called me Matthew.”

“Is that not your name?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s nothing. So you’re not going?”

“I didn’t say that either.” Nikita rubs her arms as she goes to the fridge and takes out a Diet Coke, tossing one to her partner and getting one for herself. She’s hooked on the stuff now, after stocking it for _definitely_ addicted Matt, for whenever he would come over to help her fix up her destroyed apartment. “I just don’t know, like… if I’m welcome, I guess?”

“You were invited, weren’t you?”

“Well yeah, but out of courtesy.” Nikita rolls her eyes. “I mean you’re hella likable and you’re my partner so obviously I’m only likable by proxy.”

Matt’s brow furrows a little. “I think you mean by _association.”_

“Whatever.”

“Nikita,” he says, seriously enough to make her look at him, “you’re not a bad person. Don’t make that face, you’re _not._ They just don’t see you like I do, and they won’t if you don’t let them.” He gestures with the can of soda in his hand. “This? This is a good way to let them do that.”

Her frown deepens. “This” sounds like it’ll blow up in her face, and she isn’t sure she wants to subject herself to that.

But… if Matt’s going to be there. If Matt’s going to be there, then maybe it won’t be so bad. She’ll have a buffer at least.

“Tell you what,” Matt says as the silence stretches on between them, “call up Eva.”

 _“What?”_ Nikita looks at him like he’s lost a few brain cells from the hypnosis session. “Are you out of your mind? She hates me.”

“She thinks you hurt Tyler’s feelings by not going to the cemetery with us,” he explains. She feels that panicky flutter in her stomach at the thought of losing these newfound friends, but he doesn’t let her linger on it. “She’s a lot like you. Extremely protective. Offense is the best defense. Let her know where you’re coming from. You guys have so much in common, I’m sure if you can get past this you’ll be good friends.”

“That makes one of us,” Nikita gripes.

He reaches over and squeezes her hand. Nikita resists the urge to pull away, surprised at the gesture, and thinks that Matt might be the only person in existence who can get away with touching her without explicit permission first. “Nikita,” he says, so sincere it makes her chest ache, “you won’t know unless you try.”

Nikita wants to throw a fit. She wants to yell or throw something. She wants to sit here and pout and not go. She wants to toss insults at Matt until he leaves so that she can stay here and cry and not have to commit to being a person for the sake of other people. She wants to hurt somebody so she doesn’t have to be scared of being hurt.

Instead she scowls at him and turns on a heel, back to the kitchen, where she yanks a sheet of paper towel off its roll and proceeds to rip it in half. Then in fourths, then eighths, then sixteenths. With each tear a little bit more of the anxiety and rage dissipates. When the squares get too small, she grabs another sheet and starts the process over.

Matt watches her destroy something meaningless, still with that maddening patience, a small smile of approval dancing on his lips. It makes her irrationally furious, because she doesn’t _need_ his goddamn approval. She snatches another sheet and tears it to shreds.

It takes another two or so minutes, another sheet of paper towels torn to tiny little pieces, before the white hot ball of compressed rage in her gut eases to something a bit more manageable. Nikita drops the pieces of paper towels in the trash, turning back to Matt.

“Sorry.”

“You did good,” he tells her. “Haven’t had to use that in a while though.”

“Not that you’ve seen,” she mutters, because anger is a perpetual flame that refuses to go out, just flares up when something is too upsetting to process without the use of violence. But Nikita doesn’t want to be violent anymore, and she especially doesn’t want to have to fix up her apartment again because she just _really_ isn’t into manual labor. This is a trick she’d taught herself when she felt like destroying something. And it works, for the most part, even though now she feels a little sick. And a little sad.

“Okay,” she says finally.

“Okay?”

She tosses him a half-hearted glare. “I’ll come. I’ll even call Eva. Maybe we can like, do some kind of makeover or something, for the party. I see how Oli’s been eyeing her.”

Matt laughs. “You and everybody else, sister.”

Nikita winces—he still doesn’t quite have the lingo down yet, but Matt doesn’t seem to mind being as cringey as possible. She leads him to the door again, opening it and watching as he passes through. She gnaws on her lower lip. “You… are going, tomorrow, right?”

Matt pauses and turns to smile at her. “I will see you there.”

It’s a promise, and a bit of a question, but Nikita’s already said she’s going so there’s no need to worry about that. Matt nods, as if answering his own question, and makes his way back to the parking lot. She watches him go, wondering why she still trusts him so implicitly when she knows he’s hiding something from her.

Nikita closes the door, pulls her phone from her pocket, and scrolls until she finds Eva’s number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sing songs* Things are ESCALATING !
> 
> Hey, I have a Patreon now! If you like this story and can afford $1 a month (or more, if you're feeling it), feel free to head on over ! https://www.patreon.com/cinderscoria?alert=2
> 
> With it you'll get early access to chapters the day before they drop! Plus more perks the higher tier you sign up for :D But don't worry--if you can't afford it, you won't miss out on anything relevant to the plot of this fic. It's only for folks who want to and can afford to support me on a financial level. Any other support is greatly treasured and appreciated <3
> 
> Up next: The sleepover, through Oli's eyes. It's a doozy.


	8. 7. Oli - ACCEPTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distract with:
> 
> A - activities  
> C - contributing to society  
> C - comparing yourself to view your progress  
> E - (opposite) emotions  
> P - pushing negative thoughts away  
> T - (other) thoughts  
> S - (other) sensations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings, just fluffy shit and an apology that this is so late :(

_Oli_

“Tyler, I really think—”

“Here, hold this, would you?”

Oli sputters as Tyler piles on yet another shopping bag into his already full arms, cutting off whatever complaint he’d been working up to voice. Oli’s lost count of how many bags he’s holding now, and Tyler has a few of his own as well as he drags his British friend through the mall.

“Tyler,” Oli tries again, “don’t you think you might be overdoing this?”

The question brings a frown to Tyler’s face as he pauses, contemplates this, and then states, “Absolutely not.”

Oli rolls his eyes. “It’s a sleepover, not a—” He stumbles on his words, because he almost said _not a masquerade ball._ Tyler shoots him a look over his shoulder like he could hear his thoughts clear as day. Oli reddens. “I only mean that it’s just us, who are you trying to impress?”

“It’s not that,” Tyler says, pausing to gaze at an outfit in the window of some brand store or another before moving on. “I haven’t done anything fun for _me_ in months, Oli. If we’re gonna be throwing a party, we’re gonna do it my way. And that means being as extra as humanly possible.”

“Extra for you or for us?” Oli mutters, and Tyler turns to walk backwards so he can flip him off. Oli sticks his tongue out in response, considering his hands are occupied, and Tyler laughs.

“You’re a good friend, Oli.”

“I know.”

“And so am I,” he continues, “which is why I gotta show you some tough love right now. Emphasis on _love.”_

Oli frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that it has been a month since you’ve come to America, and all you’ve done with Eva is make the quite frankly most _sickening_ puppy eyes at her whenever her back is turned.” He levels his friend with a look. “I don’t know how she hasn’t figured it out yet or caught you in the reflection of a mirror or something, but it’s, like, it’s so sad to watch, Oli. You make me want to weep and then die.”

“That’s harsh, man.”

Tyler ignores him. “So. I’m giving you an ultimatum. Either you tell her how you feel by the end of the night, or I tell her for you.”

Oli feels a cold wave of panic wash him from head to toe. “Tyler—”

“Oh no,” Tyler tells him with a grin that’s rather evil for his cherubic face, “you’re not getting out of this one, Oli. But I’m giving you till midnight to tell her, so however you wanna do that is up to you.” He points at him. “But you still gotta do it.”

Tyler’s phone rings. He has to dig into the pocket of his white skinny jeans to find it, and when he sees who’s calling his eyebrows shoot up. Oli instantly begins to worry. “Who is it?”

“It’s Andrea.” He draws the name out like it’s a question, and Oli’s hackles raise.

“What are you going to do?” He knows what he wants Tyler to do, of course, but this is _his_ survival partner, not Oli’s, and the decision is up to him.

Tyler lets the phone ring, frowning down at it until the voicemail picks up. It doesn’t ring again, so he puts it back in his pocket. They start walking again, Oli watching Tyler’s troubled expression for any sort of clue as to what he’s thinking. “Are you okay?” he asks when the silence stretches on too long.

“Yeah. Of course.” The smaller man shakes himself. “Do you think we should bake brownies? I’ve been craving brownies for, like, _weeks.”_

“Tyler.”

“Hm?”

Oli just looks at him, and Tyler deflates a little. “I mean, what do you want me to say? I’ve tried for over a year to get her to talk to me. I’m not a desperate ex she ghosted, waiting on her call, okay? I’m my own goddamn person.”

His words are awfully bold considering he looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Oli wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. Instead he gives his friend a reassuring smile, telling him he supports him even if he doesn’t understand, and says, “I think brownies might be nice.”

“They’ll be damn delicious,” Tyler corrects. “And I want bat and pumpkin shaped cookie cutters so we’re definitely stopping by Joanne’s on the way home.” He points at him again with narrowed blue eyes. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about our little agreement.”

Oli doesn’t want to admit he’d been hoping for exactly that. “This is going to go badly,” he sighs, while Tyler beams, taking that as confirmation that Oli will do it.

He has zero intention of following through, though. Maybe his roommate will forget by the time the night is over.

****-****

Eva and Nikita are waiting for them.

Oli has to admit that he didn’t see that friendship coming. Eva seemed like she _hated_ Nikita at first. And Nikita seems like she hates everybody—except Matt, of course, and even that relationship is hard to wrap his mind around. But Eva had texted Tyler telling him she would be arriving with the latest survivor, and it came so far out of left field that… well, Oli doesn’t really understand baseball metaphors.

It’s just odd, that’s all.

“You gonna help us carry these bags in?” Tyler asks as the girls stand there in the driveway watching.

Eva smirks. “Nah, I’m sure Strong Man Oli there can handle it.”

Something dark flickers in Nikita’s eyes that makes Oli a little nervous that she might gut him in the middle of the night, but it’s gone before anyone else notices. She cocks a hip, flipping her shimmery blue wig over her shoulder. “I’m not risking breaking these acrylics, Tyler.”

Tyler rolls his eyes, all in good-natured fun, as he and Oli struggle to bring all the bags in on one trip. Thankfully, Matt arrives just in time to help them out, and they manage not to break anything (never mind Nikita’s manicure) on the way in.

Eva and Nikita had decorated while they were gone. Though it’s only early October, they’d decided to do something Halloween themed, just light and spooky instead of, well, terrifying and possibly traumatic. Oli thinks they’ve had enough fear for one lifetime.

But the girls really went all out with decorations. Cobwebs line the walls and corners, and they replaced the light bulbs in the lamps with purple colored ones. A beaming scarecrow greets everyone in the foyer as they walk through the front door, and Tyler’s Alexa is cycling through fun Halloween-themed songs in the kitchen.

“This looks great!” Matt enthuses as they make their way to the kitchen. “Tyler, your house is bigger than mine.”

Tyler goes to adjust his glasses, but it looks a lot like he’s flipping an imaginary wig back over his shoulder. “Well, I do pretty well for myself, if I may say.”

“It’s better than my shitty ass apartment,” Nikita agrees, to which Matt reminds her, “You only have a cheap apartment so that you can spend all your spending money on makeup.”

“Oh you’re right,” Nikita giggles. “That’s pretty smart, me.”

Oli’s eyebrows rise at the sight of Nikita laughing. The pint-sized beauty guru terrifies him, he has to admit.

“Okay,” Eva says once they reach the kitchen, “you guys got this, right? Nikita and I have to get ready.”

“Get ready?” Oli echoes, looking them both up and down. “Aren’t you already…?”

“Aw,” Nikita says to Eva, “he’s cute. No honey, this is just the appetizer.”

“The preliminary stuff,” Eva agrees. “This is just a tease.”

“A _tease,”_ Nikita parrots in a rather sultry voice, and Eva laughs as the smaller girl tugs her out of the room and up the stairs.

Oli stares at Tyler and Matt. “Does anybody else feel like we just missed something important?”

“They met up yesterday,” Tyler explains as he sets out all the baking materials they need. “Dunno what went on but, I mean, they’re friends now so I’m not complaining.”

“I might’ve asked Nikita to try to play nice with the rest of the group,” Matt adds with a small smile. “She’s really a good person once you get to know her.”

 _She’s gotta let us first,_ Oli thinks. But then again, he supposes this is her way of trying. He can’t blame her for being scared. He’s scared too, all the time.

Well. Oli watches Tyler give Matt a Diet Coke he’d had stocked in his fridge, the older man’s face lighting up at the gift.

Maybe not all the time.

****-****

Brownies turn out to be a complete disaster in the best way.

It makes Oli wish they’d filmed this, although all agreed that a collab would raise too many questions about why they were all fraternizing with each other specifically. (And unspoken would come the question “What about Andrea?” And nobody wants that.) Still, the memory of Matt protesting Tyler licking the brownie spoon, citing foodborne diseases of all kinds, only to have Tyler use the spoon he’d already licked to put a dollop of brownie batter on the older man’s nose will make Oli smile forever. Matt had chased a shrieking Tyler all over the kitchen while Oli attempted to get each batch to the oven safely.

“Lick it,” Tyler insists as Matt, easily winded apparently, slows and plops himself down on the stool at the island. “It’s right there, just _do_ it.”

“It could make me sick,” Matt argues.

“Well I’m sick, of your face, so if you don’t lick it _I’m gonna.”_

“You’re a twisted, disturbed individual, Tyler Oakley,” Matt tells him in mock seriousness, before he scoops the brownie batter off his nose and places it in his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up. “Wow that is delightful.”

“Isn’t it worth a little death?” Tyler teases.

That same cloud in Nikita’s eyes earlier passes over Matt’s face. Oli pauses from where he’s pulling the first batch of brownies from the oven, watching Matt fiddle with the spoon.

Tyler understands faster than Oli does. He sits next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I did this for her, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Figured if we could bake something right in her name it would make her happy.” He lets a moment pass before saying, “I did it for you, too. Ro was our friend but to you she was—”

“—like a sister,” Matt finishes with a sigh. He looks down at the wooden brownie spoon, but his gaze is miles, decades, away. “She told me she loved me. Those were her last words. Could’ve said anything to anyone, but she told me she loved me.”

Oli makes his way to Matt and sets a hand on his shoulder. He personally didn’t know Rosanna Pansino, but it’s impossible not to know of the beloved little baker.

Matt takes a deep breath. Oli can see him forcefully push away the sad thoughts like it’s written across his face. When he opens his eyes again, they’re still a little watery, but at least he’s back here, with them, in the present.

Oli pats him on the shoulder once more, but that’s all the encouragement he can get out, because Nikita flounces down the stairs and into the kitchen, exclaiming, “God _damn_ those smell good!”

She’s decked out in fluffy purple pajama bottoms and an old, lavender-colored T-shirt cut crop top style. Her hair is done in two neat French braids, which gives her a much younger look than Oli’s used to seeing on her. She kind of looks like a teenager ready for a child’s slumber party, although the full face of makeup belies the image.

Matt doesn’t even blink, giving her hand a light smack as she goes to reach for the pan. “Those are still hot.”

Nikita pouts at him, but Oli backs him up as he tells her with a smile, “I literally just pulled them from the oven like two minutes ago, you’re gonna burn yourself.”

“You guys are no fun,” she tells them with a scowl, reminding everyone in the room that she’s the youngest of the survivors (though not by much, Oli’s pretty sure he’s only a year older).

“Nikita, you better not have started without me.”

Oli’s head turns because it’s Eva’s voice, but he can’t quite comprehend what he’s seeing. The Eva he knows wears natural-looking makeup and has long, straight brown hair. He recognizes her face, but it’s… it’s different.

It’s a lot different.

She’s wearing a matching set of pajamas, pale blue, fluffy, and dotted in little cartoon donuts. Her hair is wildly curly, the natural blonde highlights summer had given her fading to a more golden bronze. Nikita must have done her makeup, giving her eyes dramatic purples and blues and lining her lips with ombre dark blue lipstick. In short she rocks it, but the panic freezing Oli’s limbs has very little to do with the fear he usually associates with the knowledge that he has to be a functioning member society whenever in close proximity with his survival partner.

“Uh oh,” says Tyler with a knowing grin, and Matt masks a snicker behind his hand.

Eva ignores all of them, following her nose to the brownie pan Oli’s laid out on the stove. “Gimme, gimme, gimme,” she says, hip-checking Nikita out of the way so she can scoop a piece from the uncut batch. _“Shit,_ that’s hot!”

“Duh bitch,” Nikita complains, “that’s why they didn’t let me take a piece!”

“How am I supposed to know that!” Eva, with nowhere else to put her hand-picked, roughly shaped brownie, plops the piece into her mouth. “Oh my god that tastes _amazing.”_ She goes again for more, but Oli, reacting more on the terror that she was going to burn herself again, grabs the pan with both bare hands and sets it on the opposite counter.

“Oh, ow, oh no,” he says, realizing his mistake as his fingers start screaming at him.

“Oli!” Tyler says, appalled, and Eva grabs his hands with hers and yanks him to the sink. She turns on the water, forcing Oli to plunge both hands under the stream.

The ice cold water soothes the burns, but Oli can’t take his eyes off of Eva. He doesn’t even really feel the pain. Eva inspects his fingers, saying, “Okay, I don’t think it was that bad. But why did you do that?”

“You were gonna burn yourself,” he says, which sounds lame now that he thinks about it.

Eva rolls her eyes. “So you grabbed the pan with your bare hands?”

“I wasn’t really thinking about it.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” She frowns at him. “You really need to pay better attention Oli.”

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Tyler announces, yanking Oli’s attention from Eva’s (obnoxiously perfect, Nikita sure knows her stuff) face. “There’s burn cream in here, and bandaids, is that okay?”

“Perfect,” says Eva, in full Mom Mode. “Here, Oli.”

Her hands are calloused and rough despite how soft they look. He likes that, although he figured he’d like them if they were soft and dainty too. It doesn’t matter, because they’re Eva’s hands.

“That was very smooth,” Matt commends him after they’re done fussing over his burns.

Oli colors. “Oh shut up.”

“I think it was super brave,” Nikita says, though she sounds utterly disinterested. “I mean it was stupid as hell but it was kinda sweet that you were trying to protect Eva.”

“Aww, Oli,” Eva squeals, throwing her arms around his neck.

Oli stops breathing for a second, long enough for Nikita to toss him a smirk like she knows exactly what she’d said. Oli’s getting the weird feeling he’s being ganged up on.

Tyler rescues him by saying, “Okay, I’ve got cookie cutters! Let’s get spooky, people!”

Eva lets go of him, and Tyler gives him a _look._ Oli’s heart sinks.

Looks like Operation: Tell Eva is still on.

****-****

“Halloweentown?”

“It’s a given,” Eva declares from where she’s redoing Nikita’s braids on the floor.

“I actually have a theory that—”

 _“No,”_ the rest of them chorus, Oli even dropping an arm over his eyes and saying, “Matt, haven’t you ruined enough childhoods for one day?”

The eldest of them legitimately pouts, looking a lot like his survival partner. “I’m just saying.”

But since he’s already picked apart the two other Halloween-themed movies they’ve chosen to marathon as they watched them, Oli’s inclined to side with the others on this one. Matt is very smart but he also seems to share the curse of all smart people and has a near-impossible to ignore urge to share that knowledge with the world.

They’ve gathered in Tyler’s living room, marathoning Halloween movies as the clock inches towards eleven o’clock. The brownies are long since gone, even though the boys had made three batches. The last movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas, saw Matt, Tyler, and Nikita dancing and singing along to the musical, hence Nikita’s need to have her hair flawless as usual. Matt surprised literally everyone by being a fantastic singer, and when Eva joined in they harmonized so well Oli actually got a little jealous—an irrational, ridiculous feeling, but it happened all the same.

Tyler’s been shooting him looks all night, though, and it’s taken Oli hours to build up the courage. As awful as the thought is of facing his fear of rejection head-on, the idea of Tyler telling her in his very blunt, very gay, very “I have zero patience for Heterosexual Nonsense” way is… about twenty million times worse.

So he has to do this.

He just doesn’t really know how.

“Okay you’re good,” Eva tells Nikita, standing up, and she turns around and offers a hand to Oli. Oli just kind of stares at it until she arches a perfect eyebrow at him and says, “Can I talk to you?”

Oh. Oh no. Oli sends a panicked look in Tyler’s direction, but the blonde isn’t looking at him. He swallows the terror choking out his oxygen and manages, “Sure,” taking her hand and allowing her to pull him up off the couch.

“The balcony’s free,” Tyler tells them, still not looking up from his DVD collection. Oli scowls at him as Eva pulls him to the stairs.

They climb in silence. Both know what balcony Tyler was talking about—the master bedroom opens up to a view of the valley, the pool and backyard below. It’s a chilly night, but both are wearing pajamas designed to keep them warm, so Oli isn’t too concerned about that.

As usual, the second they step outside, Oli relaxes. There’s something innately peaceful about nature. It keeps him grounded, aware of his surroundings, and brings a calm he can’t explain. It feels like he was made to be outside, even if he’s high above the trees and rivers in the valley. He still feels connected to them.

Eva, meanwhile, has her eyes on the sky. “Isn’t that something?” she murmurs.

The stars are out, and they’re beautiful.

“My mom used to tell me stories,” she continues, “stories about the stars and what they stood for. When I was really little. I wish I remembered them.”

Oli breathes and watches his breath fog up the night air. “What did you want to talk about?”

There’s a long moment where nobody talks, and then Eva looks right at Oli. “You scare the shit out of me.”

The balcony doors slam shut and then lock with a _click_. Oli and Eva whirl to find Tyler and Nikita through the clear doors, high fiving each other before grinning back at them and exiting the room.

“Oh, that’s low,” Oli growls, at the same time Eva says, “Classy, Nikita.”

She rubs her arms. Oli wants to reach out and hold her, but her admission keeps him rooted to where he leans against the railing.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “I’m doing this wrong.”

“Take your time,” he says.

He can’t quite see her eyes in the gloom of the night, but he knows she’s gazing at him with that look she got often when studying a puzzle she can’t quite crack yet.

“I think,” she draws out, “that I feel safe… with you. And that scares me. Because I keep letting my guard down, I keep slipping up and forgetting—”

“We’re not in the twenties anymore, Eva,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to keep keeping us safe.”

She closes her mouth and looks up at the stars again. Oli figures it’s his turn.

“I, uh.” He sighs. “I’ve liked you since I first met you. You’re funny and smart, you’re gorgeous. You’re really brave and you care so much about your friends. I think maybe I fought it so long because… well, we survived together, that sort of thing, it bonds people in a way most relationships just don’t have. I thought it was that. And then…”

“We didn’t see each other for two years,” Eva guesses, and Oli nods.

“If I’d stayed, I think I might have figured it out sooner.” He stubs his socked toe into the carpeted wood below. “And then… once I did…”

Eva laughs. “How do people do this?”

“Do what?”

“Love each other.” She frowns. “Tell each other they love each other.”

“Well if they’re me, they don’t,” Oli says, amused at the idea. “They go years trying to convince themselves they’d be fine if nothing happened.”

“Is something going to happen?”

“You tell me.”

They’re facing each other now. Eva is a breath away. She’s really not that much shorter than him, could stand toe to toe if she wanted to. Oh, she could kick his ass. It’s a humbling feeling, but he finds that he doesn’t mind the thought of it.

Eva ponders on it. The night wind blows her curls into her eyes, and when he goes to brush them away she doesn’t stop him.

“I think,” she says, then stops and bites her blue bottom lip. She’s shaking. Oli doesn’t know if it’s the cold or the anticipation. He’s pretty sure he’s shaking too.

“I think I want to try,” she says finally.

Oli’s heart drops. It takes him a second to even comprehend that, staring at Eva’s suddenly shy face. “Yeah?” he breathes.

“Yeah.”

She laughs as he picks her up and spins her around a little, the elation making him utterly giddy. It’s like the split second after you drop on a rollercoaster, the way the terror turns to glee and relief that you’re still alive. It’s like that but so much better.

There’s a new fear that’s starting now, but he won’t focus on that for now. For now, he has Eva, who didn’t call him ugly or repulsive and didn’t storm out even though he stumbled through trying to explain exactly what he meant. He has his ridiculous friends who literally locked them on a balcony to try to get them to _talk_ to each other. Nikita has fit right into their group, just like Tyler knew she would. And Tyler looks happier than Oli’s ever seen him, at least since the slaughterings happened.

It’s a good day.

****-****

The doorbell rings twice, startling Matt so hard he jerks from the recliner he’d been sleeping in and sprays stale popcorn everywhere.

Oli blinks awake. It’s morning, if the sun streaming in from the window is any indication, and they’re all waking in different positions than they were in when they fell asleep. Matt, Nikita, and Tyler had been delighted by Eva and Oli’s newly defined partnership, Tyler and Nikita looking particularly smug. Eva told Oli last night that Nikita had been responsible for nudging her in the right direction when it came to her feelings surrounding how much she liked Oli. Matt, for his part, didn’t seem to have a personal stake in the situation, but still looked pleased that at least the tension that existed between the two had evaporated.

Even now, Eva lies curled in Oli’s arms from where they’d fallen asleep halfway through Halloweentown High on the couch, not having much room but kept up by Oli’s grip on her. Tyler and Nikita wound up next to each other on the floor, the younger girl still in her perfectly plaited braids and makeup that didn’t even smudge overnight.

Oli thinks she might secretly be a witch, but it’s fine.

The doorbell rings again, followed by such insistent knocking that Tyler yells a bit as he comes awake. Nikita squints one eye open, acknowledging Tyler’s existence, before turning to her other side and going back to sleep.

Matt looks stunned. “I didn’t… I didn’t have any nightmares.”

Oli also fell asleep pretty much immediately, and without the use of the light on, although he suspects that had something to do with a movie playing in the background and the fact that Eva didn’t seem to mind sharing a couch not designed for two people to splay themselves across.

Tyler climbs to his feet as the knocking continues, incredibly persistent. Eva stirs in Oli’s arms, and he gently climbs out from under her, allowing her to curl back up with the blanket someone (Oli suspects Tyler) had placed over the two. He follows Tyler to the front door, wondering who the hell could be calling at such an early hour unannounced.

He sees Tyler’s shoulders tense the split second before he swings the door open to reveal a very distraught, very young looking Andrea Russett, her eyes full of tears.

“I need your help,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got bad news and good news.
> 
> The bad news is, uh, my computer broke lmao. Pretty spectacularly, which is why this is so late--I had to retype the chapter and I'm not at all happy with it but eh, that's how it goes I guess.
> 
> The good news is I'm getting a "new" computer soon (new is subjective lol) next weekend. In the meantime though that means I'm going to be typing chapters up on my iPad, which is less than ideal. All in all I've just... been having a rough week lol. Hopefully this makes up for it :P
> 
> Up next: Andrea has some explaining to do. Unfortunately for her, that's not even really the problem.


	9. 8. Andrea - THINK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T - think about the situation  
> H - have empathy  
> I - interpret the other's reasons for doing what they've done  
> N - notice when the other person is making the effort  
> K - (have) kindness in your response

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for abandonment issues, forced outing, depression spirals throughout the chapter. I'll be honest with you guys, this one is rough the whole way through, so please take care of yourselves if you have to.

**PART TWO - INTERPERSONAL EFFECTIVENESS**

_Andrea_

Andrea’s fucked up before, but not like this.  _ Nothing _ like this.

She paces on Tyler’s doorstep, wringing her phone. She’s called him twice yesterday and once just now and he still hasn’t answered. It’s the silent treatment, she knows, and she deserves it. But she doesn’t know what else to do.

She rings the doorbell again, and then follows it up with a knock or five. She stops herself when it starts to sound like she’s panicking.

Maybe she is. Okay, yeah, she definitely panicking, but in her defense everything was fine a week ago. And now, over the course of 24 hours, her entire life has been flipped on its axis. And everything is wrong. And she doesn’t know how to fix it. And, to be honest, she really just kind of wants some comfort right now.

The door opens and Andrea is face to face with her survival partner for the first time in over a year. His hair is ruffled and he’s glassesless, peering at her with hardened, bright blue eyes.

Andrea’s heart sinks. Okay. She deserves that. But it doesn’t change the fact that—“I need your help.”

Behind him, Oli White of all people appears, dressed in pajamas like he’d spent the night.  _ Isn’t he straight? _ is her absurd first thought, before she puts the pieces together.

She turns to Tyler, already forming the question, when he interrupts her. “What are you doing here?”

And suddenly why Oli spent the night at Tyler's doesn’t matter. Hurt floods her at the anger apparent in Tyler’s voice, in his face, in the way his knuckles turn white gripping the door frame. Her mouth moves, but she doesn’t know what to say. Her vision blurs the split second before tears spill out onto her cheeks. “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go,” she stutters. “She kicked me out, and Kian hasn’t been doing well since JC so we haven’t spoken in months, and—”

_ “You _ haven’t spoken in  _ months?” _ Tyler repeats. His voice cracks on the last word. Andrea swallows hard.

“Tyler, I can explain—”

“You know what, Andrea? I don’t actually want to hear it.”

“Tyler—”

“No!” He clutches the door handle like it’s a lifeline. “I gave you a year to explain! To fucking talk to me! I checked up on you! I called you! I needed you! And you weren’t there!”

He goes to slam the door and something in Andrea shatters. “Tyler  _ please!” _

The scream shreds her throat coming out, but it’s too late. The door rattles the door frame with a note of fatalistic finality. Andrea’s knees buckle. The sobs she’s buried deep in her chest, locked away where no one can see them, wrench forward now, snarling threats as hot tears burn trenches down her face.

Of course. Of course. She couldn’t have,  _ shouldn’t have, _ expected anything different. She hurt her partner—she hadn’t even known how badly—and this is her reward. It’s fitting, she’s an idiot to have hoped—there’s no way he would’ve understood—he’s right and she left him and ignored his calls and texts and emails and nothing makes it okay, nothing makes it better. She weeps, losing herself, no longer freezing on Tyler’s front porch but trapped in a world of gray and noise, needing, needing,  _ needing _ and knowing she couldn’t possibly ask for any of it, not after what she did.

The door opens again and she almost doesn’t notice. It’s too loud and she’s too tired and  _ why does it hurt so much, _ why won’t it  _ stop hurting— _

A hand, on her elbow. Andrea gasps short, sobbing breaths as she looks into Tyler’s face. He’s been crying too, though his eyes still look like flint, hurt and anger warring behind the glasses he’s retrieved. Behind him is Oli, and behind him is Eva Gutowski, and behind  _ her _ are faces she only vaguely recognizes because they’re faces everyone recognizes these days. Nikita Dragun and Matthew Patrick.

They’re all here. The survivors are all here and standing behind Tyler, a unified front against her, the threat, like they’re there to make a statement. Andrea’s chest aches like a hole has opened up between her ribs, sucking every ounce of oxygen from her lungs and then everything else for good measure. Somehow she cries even harder, humiliation burning her face, mixed with hurt and self loathing and guilt.

She’s cried a lot in these past couple of days but this… she’s never cried like this. Ever.

It feels like an eternity passes before her hysteria ebbs, sobs slowing to hiccups and tears flowing from fear and self-hatred to the misery of knowing there’s nothing she can do to fix what she’s done. Shame that she broke down like this in front of not only her survival partner, who has every reason to hate her, but in front of the other survivors too, most of them strangers, all of whom have to know what she did.

No one says anything or rushes her in any way, which almost makes it worse. She doesn’t deserve that kindness and everyone here knows it, but they give it to her anyway.

Now that she’s calmed down a little, she notices just how cold it is out here on the porch in the early October morning. She shivers as Tyler, hand still lingering on her elbow to help her anchor herself, guides her to her feet.

“Come on inside,” he says, voice rough. Andrea says nothing, just lets him lead her through the doors, into a house only a few degrees warmer. She avoids the eyes of the others as they pass, but can’t not see the blatant rage and distrust in Eva Gutowski’s pretty face.  _ They hate me, _ she thinks. Resignation settles in her shoulders as she acknowledges,  _ They’re right to. _

She knows this house pretty well. In the first week after she and Tyler returned from the Victorian Era, she spent a lot of time here, comforting her survival partner, reassuring him—and herself—that they were safe and alive and that this wasn’t a dream. And she shouldn’t have left, she knows, and she’s paying for it now, and she can’t accept the kindness Tyler is showing her but she can’t bring herself to protest.

And in all honesty, she’s tired. She’s  _ so… _ she’s so tired. She wouldn’t have the strength to refuse anyway.

She’s led to the sitting room on the first floor. It’s mostly for decoration—she doesn’t miss the cobwebs, pumpkins, and purple nightlights either; she must have interrupted some kind of Halloween party—but it has a long couch, a beanbag, and a large gas fireplace that Nikita flicks on when they all go to sit down. Andrea wonders if the others know this is where she and Tyler used to fall asleep after breaking down together. She wonders if Tyler remembers, too.

She sits on the coffee table. The others shuffle onto the couch, Tyler in the middle, Oli and Eva to his immediate right and left, Matt next to Oli and Nikita next to Eva. She feels like she’s on display. She feels like she’s pleading her case to a committee. Or a jury. Maybe she is.

Tyler leans forward when the silence goes too long. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Andrea doesn’t want to say anything. The speech she’d prepared goes out the window. She wants to sleep. She wants to cease to exist for a while. Everything is wrong. Everything is wrong.

She notices Tyler’s hands shaking and closes her eyes. “I don’t know where to start,” she admits. Her voice sounds like it’s been through a wood chipper. She clears her throat, but that doesn’t help much. “I don’t know… if you’ve seen, but I kind of…” 

Fresh tears sting in her eyes and she’s _ so frustrated _ that she can’t stop crying. “I fucked up so bad,” she manages, blinking hard, looking at the ceiling because she knows she won’t find an ounce of sympathy in the other survivors. “It’s my fault, and I know it but I don’t know how to fix it and now Sarah’s kicked me out and nothing is right—”

“Who’s Sarah?” 

This comes from Matt, on the far right. The intelligence in his gaze is  _ hella _ intimidating, but he doesn’t seem overly furious with her, so she takes a breath and says, “My girlfriend.”

The resulting silence seems almost  _ loud. _ Tyler’s brows shoot up. He didn’t know. No one knew.

“Yeah,” Andrea says, staring at her hands. “I’m bi. Surprise.”

“Holy shit,” says Nikita.

Andrea grimaces. “This really isn’t how I wanted to come out. Actually I wasn’t really  _ ever _ planning on coming out, but, you know, whatever.” It’s hard to inject any sort of emotion in her words, and she sounds a bit like a reanimated corpse, but also it  _ hurts _ and that isn’t something she can hide. “These past couple of weeks, I had some drama with the Psychic Twins.”

Matt nods like he knows what she’s talking about, which doesn’t surprise her. It’s all over Youtube right now, and after yesterday it’s only a matter of time before it hits mainstream news, too.

Oli, meanwhile, frowns. “How do you catch drama from the Psychic Twins?”

“I called them fake,” she says flatly. “They’re promising personal readings for subscribers who become a member and I didn’t like the idea of con artists making money off of lies.”

The second it’s out of her mouth she knows she fucked up, especially when Eva’s eyes narrow in her direction. Andrea rubs a hand down her face. “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“How do you know they’re fake?” Matt wants to know.

“I just do.”

But Tyler gives her a  _ look, _ a “don’t lie to me” look. “After everything we’ve been through, you can’t tell me you’re still a skeptic of the supernatural.”

_ Oh, quite the contrary. _ Andrea’s shoulders slump. “I… can’t tell you.”

“Then you might as well just leave now,” says Eva. Her voice is cold and unforgiving.

“You won’t believe me.”

Matt snorts a laugh. “I think of anyone in this world, we might be the only ones who would.”

“I…” But how can she say this? She hasn’t told anybody this. “I just  _ know.” _

“That isn’t good enough,” Eva snarls.

“No, I mean I just  _ know.” _ Her hand comes up, waving at the air, trying to make them understand. “Sometimes I, like, I know things that are going to happen but haven’t happened yet, sometimes I can hear other people’s thoughts, sometimes I can go somewhere and know a tragedy happened or will happen. Sometimes I feel other people’s emotions, and I can make them feel mine.”

Matt leans forward again. “Are you telling us you’re  _ psychic?” _

“I don’t know!” Andrea pushes a hand through her hair. “Maybe? I don’t… like to put a label on it, and it’s not like I see visions or anything, I just  _ know. _ I look at the Psychic Twins and I can just tell that they’re not real, they’re lying. I don’t know how I know, I just do.”

Eva remains unconvinced. “That’s impossible.”

“I know!” Andrea frets, frustrated tears welling up again. “And I can’t explain it, so I hid it, and everything else, and then once I started lying I couldn’t  _ stop.” _

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tyler demands, sounding physically pained. “This… this psychic thing, you had  _ so many chances _ to tell me—”

“I was scared,” she confesses. “And being around you made it worse. I could hear your thoughts, Tyler, I knew… I knew what you thought, your dreams, I could  _ see _ them, I could feel your pain.”

“So you ran,” Matt concludes. “You ran, and you lied about it, and then you got caught.”

“I don’t know how the Psychic Twins knew about Sarah,” she mutters. “And I shouldn’t have said anything, I should’ve just let it happen, and then they wouldn’t have—”

Hurt lodges again in her throat, and she can’t breathe around it.

Matt gets it first. “They outed you.”

“They outed  _ Sarah.” _ And she’d been so upset. They’d been dating for eight months, after Andrea had accidentally dumped a smoothie on her shirt at the mall. Sarah Overfree, just a normal girl who didn’t care who Andrea was, that she’d been damaged beyond repair, that she’d been running from everyone who loved her because she was so afraid of being hurt, of hurting the people she loved. And no one knew Andrea likes girls, but Sarah couldn’t escape her oppressive parents’ grasp, even when she and Andrea had moved in together, and they’d kept it a secret as long as they could.

They’d fought, the week before they’d been outed. “You always pick fights,” she’d told Andrea. “One day you’re going to go up against someone you can’t beat, and then what?”

_ This. _ This is what. Sarah had put her out this morning, both of them in tears. She’d told her to never come back.

And Andrea hadn’t known what to do. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to except Tyler, the kindest person she knows, the one she couldn’t possibly hope to ask for forgiveness from, but her only option. Her only option.

“I don’t know what to do, Tyler,” she finishes. At some point she’d started crying again, which is odd because she hadn’t known she had the energy still to cry and yet here they are. “Everyone knows now, and I look like an idiot, and it’s not even the only thing I’ve been lying about that’s been aired to  _ everyone, _ and I have nowhere to go, and I didn’t know what else to do. Please, please tell me what to do.”

Tyler is staring at his hands. Andrea can’t lie anymore, she’d convinced herself that Tyler would be so happy to see her he would offer her a room in his house, she’d pay rent, they’d repair their relationship, and everything would be okay. She hadn’t expected the others to be here. She hadn’t expected Tyler to have moved on.

Does that make her a bad person? Probably. Oh, definitely. She’d relied on someone she hurt to support her. She deserves nothing but his scorn and his rage.

“I can’t…” Tyler’s voice breaks. Everyone’s eyes are on him. It’s his decision, ultimately, whether to forgive her. If he does, they will too. But he’s the deciding factor in this.

Andrea can only pray that he’s still the kind person she remembers, the one who would do anything for anyone in need, regardless of what they’ve done for him. And she’s selfish as hell. But she can’t… there’s nothing else she can do. There’s nothing she can do to fix this.

“I can’t put you up here,” he says finally. “Oli lives here too and I just… I can’t.”

“And she’s not staying with me,” Eva announces, not breaking eye contact with Andrea.

Her heart sinks. That’s it then. She’ll have to move back home, give up her Youtube career, give up any notion of trying to fix everything she broke. There’s nothing left to do or say. She’s finally found a fight she can’t win, and it wasn’t with the Psychic Twins. Her past mistakes have caught up to her. All she can do is accept the loss. And try to figure out how she’s supposed to get past this. Or if she even really wants to.

“She can stay with me.”

Everyone’s heads whip towards Nikita, nonchalantly lounging on the couch arm on the far left. She looks a bit bored with these proceedings, but when Andrea looks at her, her dark eyes glitter. “It’d be pretty convenient to have a psychic for a roommate,” she continues. “Predict Youtube trends and shit.”

Andrea frowns. “I can’t really control it—” But at Nikita’s  _ I’m trying to bail you out here, bitch _ look, she shuts her mouth. “I mean, thank you.”

Tyler takes a deep breath. “Okay. Cool. Uh, I think I’m gonna cancel group today. We’ll pick back up next Sunday, if that’s okay. I kind of… need a second to process this.”

Matt rises. “I’ll take you guys home,” he says to Nikita, and, Andrea supposes, to herself as well.

“I need a car,” Nikita grumbles. “C’mon, mindreader, let’s go.”

They leave. Andrea lingers, wanting more than anything to reach out to Tyler, touch his hand, try to convey just how grateful she is for this, but he won’t meet her eyes. He tucks himself into Oli’s side, and Eva is glaring at her like if she tries she’ll bite her fingers off. She nods instead, understanding a dismissal when she hears one. She follows Matt and Nikita back outside.

All her stuff is in her car, so she follows Matt’s car back to Nikita’s apartment. She sees them conversing, about her no doubt, and doesn’t quite know how to feel. She doesn’t know these people, and they have no reason to show her any sort of reprieve, especially if Tyler’s told them about how they split.

She didn’t even really get a chance to explain that, or apologize for it. She shouldn’t have left. But she also couldn’t have stayed, not when Tyler’s guilt and shame for surviving when Alex didn’t, when Tana and Joey didn’t, Gabbie and Lauren, even Jesse and DeStorm—he didn’t believe he deserved to win and Andrea hadn’t known to what extent until she could hear it clear as day.

The psychic thing, whatever it is, it didn’t show up until after the slaughtering. She thought being around Tyler is what caused it. She thought that if she just distanced herself from him, it would go away. And it didn’t, not quite, but it lessened to the point that it wasn’t crippling her anymore. Some nights she lay awake convinced she imagined all of it. It doesn’t seem possible… but then again, neither does time travel, or fighting an evil sorceress bent on world domination.

No, she shouldn’t have left, and the truth is the only reason she did is because she was scared. And hurt. And there was no way to win. She thought if she cut off any communication, any tie to Tyler Oakley, if she just pretended that she was okay, he’d move on, and she’d move on, and everything would be okay. She’d told herself she was doing it for him.

Can you lie to yourself? Successfully? The truth has a way of slapping you in the face. No one knows more than she does. Every lie she’s ever told over the past year is coming back in an ugly way. How is she supposed to move on from this?

They pull up to Nikita’s apartment building. Matt rolls his window down when Andrea pulls up next to him and gets out. “Do you need help with your stuff?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Thank you.”

He studies her. “Listen… if you need anything, let me know, okay? I know how hard it is to come back after being gone for a while.”

Nikita snorts as she gets out. “This ain’t the same as your forced sabbatical, Matthew,” she says, cocking a hip. “But don’t worry, mindreader. If you’re serious about making it up to Tyler, he’s like the biggest pushover ever.”

“You might have to work for the others, though,” Matt informs her gently. “They’re the ones who were there for him in your absence. We don’t know him as well as they do. Just… keep your head up, okay?”

Andrea looks at him. She tilts her head. He’s hiding something too. Something huge. She closes her eyes, not wanting to know his secrets like she knows everyone’s secrets. It doesn’t matter what he’s hiding. He, and Nikita, and Tyler too—they’re giving her more than she deserves. She doesn’t want to fuck this up.

Matt gives her a crooked smile when she opens her eyes again. “I’m gonna want to talk to you about that later,” he says. He looks past her. “Nikita, you good?”

“Always.”

“‘Kay. I’ll see you guys on Sunday.”

Andrea looks at Nikita as he pulls out of the parking lot. “What’s Sunday?”

She grins at her, in full blown predator mode. “Your best chance at fixing this shit.” She turns on a heel, sashaying her way to the information center, her long blue braids swinging behind her. “C’mon, we gotta talk to the landlord.”

Andrea thinks that Sarah might really like this girl, and aches for the loss of what she used to have. But there’s no going back now. All her cards are on the table. She has nothing left to hide, and only miniscule hope that this will all turn out to be okay.

She has zero doubt that she’ll have to work for it. And she’s tired now, but Tyler has every reason to hate her and yet he’s still willing to hear her out. Give her a second chance.

Andrea curls her fingers into fists as she starts after Nikita. It’s a chance she won’t waste.

She can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still computerless, rip
> 
> I just wanna say too that I don't hate the Psychic Twins or think they're fake or anything, they're just a means to an end. Also Sarah Overfree is an original character and probably won't make a physical appearance in this book. I love Andrea, too, so keep an open mind! Every survivor plays an important part in every book in this series, I promise. As for the psychic thing, well, I know what I'm doing. Probably.
> 
> Up next: Matt remembers his dream. But what should he do about it?


	10. 9. Matt - GIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G - (be) gentle  
> I - (act) interested in what the other person is saying  
> V - validate their struggles and emotions  
> E - (have an) easy going manner; be light-hearted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of abandonment issues which honestly went a bit deeper than I was expecting, whoops

_ Matt _

Matt wakes screaming, but in his defense, this dream ended with Wilmer the Strong Man’s fist hurtling towards his face. He didn’t even make it to Shane Dawson’s message this time.

That’s okay though. He remembers it. He remembers it all.

The scream echoes into the night and almost immediately afterwards Ollie begins to cry. Matt catches his breath, settling one hand on Steph’s leg. “I got it,” he murmurs.

It’s been an unspoken rule, lately, that if he wakes the baby he goes to settle him. And that’s fair, and he’s willing to do anything if it lessens the stress on his wife anyway. So he climbs out of bed, pushing a hand through his hair as he makes his way to Ollie’s room.

Four months old is a cute age, he thinks when he cracks the door open to see Ollie already having calmed himself, now babbling nonsense, completely ignoring his dad as he stands in the doorway. He’s two steps from being able to roll over, keeps tipping and reaching. In this instance he's fascinated with the tiny round mirror they put in the corner of his crib. Even in the low light, he makes faces and laughs at his reflection

Matt doesn't know how to be a dad. He's doing his best, around streaming every other day and typing up and recording scripts and going to group. The absolute last thing he should be doing is picking up a new project, a huge project, one that he has to keep a secret from everyone he loves.

But if Shane's right…

If Shane is right, none of them are safe. This isn't over. He needs to figure it out, have something concrete, something more than “I've been having dreams about dead Youtubers except they might not actually be “dead,” also the people we trusted to keep us safe during the slaughterings may or may not have been evil the whole time.”

That just… won’t go over well. Also he would have to tell them he died in order to explain how he met Shane and that just… isn’t a subject he’s ready to broach yet. Sue him.

Ollie fusses just a little, so Matt closes the door and stands outside it, figuring it’s the light coming in from the hallway stressing the little guy out. After a moment, he settles. Matt waits another two or three minutes, listening for his son, but all is quiet. He moves away from the door, but instead of going back to bed, he heads for the stairs.

It’s been quieter since he and Steph had moved their livestream office from here to downtown. Actually having a  _ place _ to work, a place that isn’t their home, has done wonders for everyone’s moods. There no longer are people coming in and out of the house, so it’s silent and dark as he makes his way through the kitchen and to the old livestream room, which has since become an area of storage.

And, from there, a place where he can gather his thoughts and begin his research into the Society Against Evil.

He flicks the light on and closes the door behind him. He only really does this at night, ever since he and Nikita did the hypnosis session that forced his memories to the forefront of his consciousness. He picks up a notebook, the one where he’d written down everything he remembered, and reads it once more. And as he reads, he remembers.

_ A church. Jael and Ryu are there. They tell him he’s not the only one to visit their church and return. He knows they mean Joey. He knows they mean it as a gesture of hope, too, but this he believes a little less. _

_ A cork tree. A large meadow. A house on a hill. A familiar face, a crooked grin, a voice everyone, everyone knows. _

_ “Hey, Matt. We don’t have a lot of time.” _

_ “Where are we?” _

_ “Well, I have a theory on that.” A wink at the reference. Matt is so confused. “But like I said, we don’t have a lot of time. When you go back—” _

_ “When?” he echoes. “Go back?” _

_ And Shane Dawson levels him with a look so uncharacteristically serious that he takes a step back from it. They don’t know each other personally, outside of the one-off Twitter interaction, but Matt doesn’t know him to be so… tired. So solemn. _

_ “You know what Lazarus means.” _

_ “How do  _ you _ know?” Matt shoots back. _

_ Shane’s face splits in a wide, toothy grin. “Because I’m with the Society Against Evil.” _

_ The name rings a bell. “Joey’s contacts for Everlock,” he remembers. “And those people, at the church. You work for them?” _

_ “I did. I’m dead now.” _

_ Matt’s heart sinks. “So am I.” _

_ “Not for long.” Shane rocks on his heels in front of him, the shade of the cork tree masking his eyes. He’s dressed oddly, in a brown jacket and slacks, a type of period clothes Matt can’t really identify. _

_ “They’re going to be coming for you soon,” Shane tells him, like he knows. “And when they do you have to win. You’re not going to get another chance at this.” _

_ Matt has more questions—how does he know about the Lazarus box, can it bring back more than one person, if not why does he seem to know that Matt will be the one chosen, what does he know about Joey—but Shane pins him with a steely stare. _

_ “You’re not going to get another chance at this,” he says again. “And you’ll forget the second you go back, so  _ listen: _ the crystal is a trap. Don’t trust the Society Against Evil. They’re not who you think they are. I’m going to work on it here, but I’ve been trying to get out for like—I mean it’s been what, three years?” _

_ “Two,” Matt says, feeling numb, “it’s been two years since you’ve died.” _

_ Shane swears. “Feels like longer. It can’t be unlocked without the gatekeepers. Joey’s one of them, but we’re still missing the other. I don’t know what all the survivors are, but I know we’re missing a couple. This has to be the last round. It has to be.” _

_ “What are you  _ talking _ about?” _

_ “You’ll figure it out, Matt,” he says. “You’re smart like that, right?” _

_ “Why can’t you just tell me?” _

_ “Because I don’t have all the answers yet.” He stares him down. “Just remember what I said.” _

_ Matt feels cold. “The crystal is a trap. Don’t trust the Society Against Evil.” _

_ “Attaboy.” The sky around them grows darker. Shane sighs. “Back to the dungeon, I guess. Still, I wouldn’t want to be you.” _

_ “Thanks.” _

_ “Anytime, pal,” is his chipper, if sarcastic response, and then the world gets real dark real fast, and then Matt is stumbling into the Lounge, alive once more. _

Matt puts the papers down. He remembers now, but he’s still just as confused, if not more so. Why was Shane Dawson a member of a secret society that’s been battling evil for centuries? Why turn against them if he was? Were they the ones who got him killed?

He likes Jael and Ryu. They’re a little intense, sure, but who wouldn’t be after failing in their mission and then locking a town for forty-something years to ensure that they’d get a second chance? Calliope, too, because he’d suspected she knew more than she was telling the group the first time they met her. She’s the one in charge of the voting cards, she’s the one with the magic, she’s the one who warned them the Carnival Master was coming in the first place.

He aches, missing her. He’d liked her a lot, and it’s hard to forget the crunching sound as the Carnival Master crushed her windpipe with one hand, effortlessly snuffing out her light the way he’d done to Mortimer, and everyone else who’d died in that town because of him.

Including himself. Matt breathes, settling his nerves, one hand on his notes. He’s started putting up a theory board. He used to do this on the computer, but it helps him get it out of his head and into something he can visually see and compare with. The opposite wall, where the camera used to be, now holds a large white board where a question is circled numerous times.  _ What is the crystal? _

And from there more questions are spawned. They’d left the three life crystals with the body of the Carnival Master when they’d left Everlock, but Shane seemed to be talking about  _ one _ in particular, so he doesn’t think those are the ones he’d had in mind. And what are the gatekeepers? Shane implied that there are two of them, that Joey is one of them. Does Joey know? Does he know which crystal Shane was talking about? None of the questions about the crystal can be answered without Joey’s help.

Which leads him to the second question:  _ Who is the Society Against Evil? _ He knows from Eva and Oli’s story that they are the ones who provided the clues to perform the ritual and escape the house, but that doesn’t make any sense either. Why the game? Why play a game when you can just slaughter them all? For that matter, why did any of them have to solve riddles and puzzles set up in a way to weed out the “weak,” ensure that only a couple of them would survive? What’s the point of that?

He hadn’t thought about it at the time, figured that the Society had snuck in keys and levers in case anyone had found themselves trapped in this town battling an evil demon sporting horns and blue skin. But added to everyone else’s stories… it just doesn’t make sense. Not if the Society wanted to save the town and protect the people. Not if they used Joey, a Youtuber, to lure in his friends,  _ other Youtubers. _ Not if Shane himself was a Youtuber and did the exact same thing.

No, now that he has reason to suspect the Society is up to something, none of this adds up.

So it’s there he spends the next five hours, waiting for dawn: on his computer researching where the Society came from, who they are, how he can get a hold of them. He tries Joey again too, just like he’s done several times over the past few months, searching for his partner-in-resurrection. He admits that he’s worried about him, despite being angry for luring them all to Everlock in the first place. It’s hard to hate a guy who died and came back after going through the same thing yourself. Would he have taken the contract to sacrifice his friends in order to give himself a second chance at life?  _ Hell _ no, but luckily he didn’t get a choice in the matter and nothing, unless you count Colleen, had to be traded in order for him to do it.

Is that cheating? Probably. It feels an awful lot like cheating.

Now he’s stuck here digging into the past of a Society that does  _ not _ want to be found at the behest of a dead man who may or may not have actually spoken to him during his hour of not being alive. Matt would scoff at the idea if he hadn’t just gotten back from  _ literal time travel, _ or hadn’t gotten dragged off by a horde of  _ zombies. _ Anything is possible at this point, including messages from beyond the grave. Also yeah, he died and was dragged back to life. It’s hard to be a skeptic after that.

He turns his thoughts to Andrea as the sun peeks in through the curtains, eight o’clock approaching fast. A year ago he would’ve scoffed at the idea of her being a psychic, but Shane’s words echo in his head.  _ “I don’t know what all the other survivors are, but—” _

It implies that they might all be psychic, or something along those lines. Matt doesn’t feel any different, and he hasn’t been reading anybody’s mind—at least he doesn’t think so—but magic as a side effect of surviving these awful games doesn’t seem too far of a stretch. Of course, that implies that these past couple of years have been the _ only _ time this has happened, which both isn’t plausible because they would’ve heard something about it by now, and doesn’t add up because Joey said that the Society has been battling this evil for centuries. Even the Carnival Master echoed something similar: “They have called you into a war that’s not yours.” This sort of thing started a  _ long _ time ago, so why only now has something been happening to the survivors?

He gets chills as an answer occurs to him: maybe Eva and Oli were the first time anybody survived.

_ The Society sucks at their job then, _ he thinks in response to  _ that _ train of thought, but that was already obvious when it became apparent that a trio of Youtubers were able to take down a demon who managed to pull off a win decades earlier. That’s suspicious as hell too. It’s almost like they were waiting for them. Why? Because they knew the survivors were important? Why would they be important to them, though? And if they aren't, why did Andrea gain the ability to read minds after she came back from the 2017 slaughtering? How does Shane know that the place he’s trapped in can only be unlocked with the help of two gatekeepers? Why does he  _ know _ Joey is one of them? If he is, who is the other?

Matt feels like he’s playing a high stakes game where he only knows half the rules. But he’s used to that, really. That’s how most of his theories start out.

 By the time his wife gets up, he’s got a whole lot of questions and not a lot of answers. He’s also exhausted, having woken at two or so. Luckily today is Tuesday. They’ve taken to streaming every other day, both because it’s only been a couple of months since they’ve started streaming again and Matt is still “recovering” from his experience—he’s convinced at this point that he won’t ever  _ not _ be in recovery, considering it’s been months and he’s still having nightmares—and because they have a baby now, and being parents is a full time thing you can never vacation from. The timing is awful, but Matt wouldn’t have it any other way, so they do their best.

In any case, it’s Tuesday. He can try for a nap later, he hopes. In the meantime he makes his way to the kitchen so he can make Steph’s tea, hearing her in Ollie’s room as the baby stirs and makes his awareness of the world known. Matt smiles as he steeps the tea in Steph’s favorite mug and waits for her to come down with their son.

She does, Ollie settled on one hip, brown hair gathered in her signature low braid. He holds out the cup to her and she smiles back at him, taking it.

“You didn’t come back to bed,” she notes, taking a sip.

“I crashed again on the couch,” he lies. “I didn’t want to wake you or Ollie again if…”

She nods when he trails off, and he locks away the twinge of guilt he feels from lying to her again. He trusts his wife, just like he trusts his partner, and the rest of the survivors, but this… he doesn’t even know what  _ this _ is yet, and it’s just safer, for everyone involved, if he keeps it to himself.

“Your phone rang a minute ago,” she tells him, setting the mug down on the counter so she can pull the cell phone from her pocket. “It says it was from “Not the Namesake”?” There’s a question in her teasing voice, but it was more asking if she wants to know why he named Oli that in his contacts.

Matt grins. “It’s a long story.” It’s really not, but his quirk for fun contact names isn’t something he often explains, and Steph knows it too. He pecks Steph on the cheek and then his baby for good measure, heading for the stairs with a quick, “I’m gonna go shower.”

He dials Oli back and waits for the Brit to pick up. He does almost immediately, shouting,  _ “Oh thank God. Matt, I need your help.” _

“Uh, sure,” Matt says, a bit startled at the greeting, “what’s up?”

_ “Okay, so, you know how Eva and I are kind of, like, I guess we’re sort of like a  _ thing _ now? Yeah?” _

“Yes, and we’re very proud of you,” Matt says slowly. “Go on.”

_ “I don’t… really know…”  _ Oli huffs, hems, and haws.  _ “Like, we’re supposed to go out on a date tomorrow, and I don’t know what to do.” _

Matt’s brows shoot up. “Have you never dated anyone before?”

_ “Of course I have,” _ Oli says defensively.  _ “But no one like  _ Eva. _ She knows me too well, man, I can’t bluff my way through dinner and a movie with her, you know? Plus, I mean… I  _ really _ like her, I want this to be special.” _

Oh jeez. Matt’s never felt more like a dad in this moment, and he actually  _ has _ a kid. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he turns on the shower. “Have you talked to Tyler about it?”

_ “Yeah, he told me he’s “too gay for this shit, go back to bed.””  _ Matt laughs despite himself, and Oli yells,  _ “It’s not funny!” _

“It’s a little funny,” Matt tells him. “Listen, girls just want to know what boys are like when no one’s watching. So just do something with her you’d usually do when you were alone. Something personal to you.”

Oli’s quiet for a second.  _ “That’s… a really good idea, thanks Matt.” _

“You’re welcome,” Matt says, amused, since he really didn’t do anything, but Oli has already hung up. He shakes his head and climbs into the shower.

-

It’s a lazy day for the Game Theorists, if “lazy” is defined as lounging around writing scripts for both Game Theory and Film Theory. Matt isn’t behind by any means, but he knows he’s distracted, and trying to script things is damn near impossible when you have questions whirling around your head, questions you’d usually voice to your equally intelligent (if not more so) wife but can’t because doing so would reveal all the secrets you’re trying to keep.

Secret keeping is lonely as hell, he thinks with grim acceptance. He thinks of Andrea again, saddened by the knowledge that she didn’t feel safe enough to come out, even as big as she is online and especially after the slaughtering. He’ll never know what that’s like personally, having to hide a relationship and then being thrown into the spotlight, having the person you love kick you out on the street with nowhere left to go and no way to hide your secrets anymore. He can’t help it, he feels for her. Maybe it’s his bleeding heart, or maybe it’s how much he longs to share that he died and came back, to be comforted through the horror of acknowledging that fact, but is too goddamn scared of how they might react.

Suddenly, too suddenly, he remembers how Joey had cried when he admitted his own death and resurrection to the group. Matt had been furious then, but now he just feels sad. He can’t expect any of them to react well if he were to tell them.

So he just… won’t tell them.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Matt sighs, putting his computer down—he’s a solid three hundred words into this script, an unfortunate but ultimately unsurprising result of being preoccupied—and pulls it out, frowning at the number he doesn’t know. Against his strong Millennial instinct he answers the call. “Hello?”

_ “Matt?” _

It takes him a second to place the rustic female voice. “Andrea?”

_ “Nikita gave me your number,” _ she explains, which answers his next question.  _ “I was just wondering if I could ask you something.” _

Well speak of the devil. Matt leans back against the couch and rubs his eyes—it’s day three of getting three hours of interrupted sleep and he’s started to feel it in his fingers. “Uh, shoot, I guess.”

She hems and haws. The silence stretches long enough for Matt to get up and make his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge so he can grab a Diet Coke. He needs the caffeine, or so he tells himself. A nap would be smarter but Diet Coke tastes better, so… bite him.

_ “I need to win Tyler back.” _

Matt almost drops his soda. “Excuse me?”

_ “I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” _ Andrea frets.  _ “I just mean I need to know what I can do to get him to trust me again.” _

“Why are you asking me?”

_ “Oh, well, Nikita’s been telling me about everything that happened during your guys’ slaughtering and she might have told me that you’re pretty good with advice, so I just figured, you know. Also everyone else hates me.” _

“They don’t hate you,” is Matt’s automatic response, although what he wants to scream is  _ everything? She told you everything? _

Andrea laughs, but it’s short and bitter.  _ “Yeah. They do. But I don’t blame them. I fucked up, really badly. But I didn't realize… I really hurt Tyler and I have to fix it. I have to. We're partners.” _

Matt feels that. The bond between partners, he's noticed, is an intense type of love he can't explain. Even strained like this, Andrea still feels the need to protect her partner, to help him heal. It's an impossible need to ignore.

_ “Anyway,”  _ Andrea continues, _ “Nikita says you’re good about helping people out. I need to know where to start. I don’t… you know. I don’t know Tyler as well as I used to. To be honest with you, I didn’t know him very well to begin with.” _

Matt wants to admit that he doesn’t know Tyler very well either, but that’s not entirely true. He and Tyler are very similar in that they feel a drive to help other people, and will squash their own needs in favor of supporting someone else’s. It’s dangerous, but Matt’s been aware of this tendency of his for a while now, so he knows how to navigate it. Tyler’s has gotten him into trouble more than once, from what Matt’s seen. He’s been trying to figure out a way to broach the subject with him for a while now, actually.

_ “Matt? Are you still there?” _

“Yeah,” he says, though he’s half inside his own head. “Listen, Andrea, can I be up front with you?”

_ “I’d prefer it, actually.” _

“Okay. Listen. I don’t know your reasons for leaving Tyler like you did. But I do know that it’s affected him every single day since. I can see it in how he checks up on us, I can see it in how he tries to make himself as useful as possible. How scared he gets when he thinks one of us is going to leave and never come back. I’m sure you thought you were keeping him safe, right?” He hears sniffling through the line, knows that she’s crying, and feels bad about it. “Whatever your intentions, you hurt him  _ deeply. _ It’s a kind of hurt that won’t go away with apologies and promises to be better. You leaving shifted how he views the world. You need to understand what that did to him.”

_ “How…” _ Her voice is saturated with tears, but she pushes through them.  _ “How do I fix it?” _

“I don’t know if  _ you _ can,” Matt admits. “But time will make it easier, and you being here now is a good first step. Just do that. Be here now. Let him know you’re trying. Bare every secret you’ve ever kept from him, let him see the person you’re trying to be now. You’re not a bad person, Andrea,” he adds, when her control breaks and a sob sounds through the phone. “I’ve been where you are. I’m sure Nikita told you about the month and a half after we came back? When I wasn’t myself?”

_ “She told me you’d bring it up and also to tell you that you’re full of shit.” _

This pulls a surprised laugh from him. “Okay, fair, I guess, but again, my reasons for checking out don’t matter, they still very deeply affected her and I’m still trying to repair the damage I did, months later. So it takes  _ time, _ and patience, and learning how to navigate the world now. Just keep that in mind.”

_ “Okay.” _ She still sounds exhausted, which is exactly how Matt feels now, to be honest.  _ “Thanks, Matt.” _

“No problem. Hey,” he says, to stop her from hanging up just yet, “this psychic thing. What are your limits on it? Just curious.”

_ “I can’t read your thoughts through the phone, if that’s what you’re thinking,” _ Andrea says.

“Ironic, since that’s  _ exactly _ what I was thinking.”

She laughs.  _ “I’ve kind of trained myself to put up shields. Nikita and I are testing it too, since it’s a little random. Apparently survivors like you guys are a lot easier to read. When my shields are down, I get thoughts, emotions, but only stuff that’s happening in real time. If I were to, I dunno, hold like an object or something I’d be able to tell where it came from and who used to own it. But I can’t  _ make _ myself do it, it’s unpredictable. I don’t know, after I… after I left, I just learned how to throw shields up and try to navigate life like that. I’ve never really tried to control it.” _

“Maybe we should start,” Matt muses. “This sort of thing… like, do you think we have it too?”

Andrea hesitates before answering.  _ “I feel like we would’ve known by now, right? Eva and Oli, at least, would’ve gotten it first. I don’t know, maybe it’s genetic for me and the slaughtering just triggered it?” _

Matt doubts that, based on the information Shane gave him, but he just hums thoughtfully instead. “All right. Well, if it’s all right with you, I still want to test the limits of this thing.”

_ “Sounds great to me. See you Sunday?” _

Matt smiles, glad she’s got Nikita. “Yeah, I’ll see you Sunday.”

_ “Great.”  _ Then, a bit shyly,  _ “Thanks, Matt.” _

“Anytime.”

They hang up. Matt stares at his blinking cursor, but he doesn’t really see it. He has  _ so _ many questions and none of them relate to Doki Doki Literature Club. Andrea’s right, if the others had this ability they would’ve figured it out long before the second group of Youtubers even disappeared. Unless they were hiding it from the group—but no, because as soon as Andrea admitted she was psychic they would’ve spoken up too. Also it’s been five months since he and Nikita got back from Everlock and neither of them have experienced anything similar to what Andrea’s described.

So why is it only Andrea, then? Her theory of her having genetic magic makes sense, but doesn’t add up to what Shane told him.  _ I don’t know what all the survivors have, but— _

But Joey is a gatekeeper. Andrea is a psychic.

The rest of them  _ have _ to be something. Right?

-

The buzz of a cell phone jolts Matt awake again. He blinks in surprise, identifying the couch he’d fallen asleep on, the golden rays of sunset streaming in from the window, the laptop that had long since fallen asleep sometime after he did. He looks around, confused by the silence of the empty house, before grabbing his phone and answering it with a groggy, “Hello?”

_ “Oh god, I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” _

It’s Tyler. What an odd coincidence. Matt blinks, thinking about it. “… No.”

_ “Hm, sounds fake but okay.” _

Matt chuckles, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He doesn’t even really remember making it from his kitchen to the couch, but there under his can of Diet Coke is a note from Stephanie.  _ Didn’t want to wake you, took Ollie out with some friends. Be back soon, love you. _

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since then, but at least a couple hours must have come and gone, considering the sun is hovering just over the mountains, spraying everything in marigold.

Tyler’s still talking.  _ “I’m sorry to call you like this, it’s super random, but I just wanted to ask your opinion on something.” _

_ You and everyone else today. _ Matt doesn’t voice this thought, taking a sip of the now rather flat Diet Coke. “Go ahead.”

_ “Okay, okay, cool. Uh. Just… like, what… do I do about Andrea?” _

Oh jeez. Matt puts the soda down again. “What do you mean?”

_ “I mean, like, she’s my partner. Like, she’s my  _ partner _ and I should forgive her, right, she’s here now and she apologized and—” _

“Did she, though?” Matt interrupts.

_ “What?” _

“Did she apologize?” He wracks his memory, thinking back to when Andrea had spilled everything sitting on the coffee table, backlit by the fireplace, tears spilling down her cheeks. She’d been upset, and she’d revealed a lot, but she hadn’t apologized, he doesn’t think.

Tyler’s silent for a solid minute as he backtracks.  _ “Well, shit.” _

“Tyler, listen,” Matt starts gently. “Andrea is your partner, and that means she has a connection to you that none of us have. She knows you in a way none of us will. That’s a fact of life. But she also hurt you. You’re allowed to be hurt. And angry. You know that, right?”

_ “Yes?” _ But it comes out like a squeak, an attempt at clinging to the light-hearted mask he puts up to hide his own pain. It shatters completely when he says,  _ “But… but  _ no, _ no, because what if she leaves again? What if she decides this isn’t worth it? I can’t be angry with her, Matt, I can’t, I can’t go through this again, if she leaves again I won’t survive it, I cannot survive it, it’ll kill me.” _

Matt’s heart kind of breaks at the raw fear in Tyler’s voice. “Tyler,” he says, “I really don’t have any answers for you here.”

_ “Oh,” _ Tyler laughs through his tears,  _ “that’s encouraging, thank you.” _

“Let me finish. I don’t have any  _ easy _ answers, but I can tell you that everything you’re feeling, this unhealthy attachment to someone who hurt you, you’re not alone in it.” He needs to tread lightly here, because though he and Nikita gave an account of what happened during their slaughtering, it was a bare-bones retelling and certain things were omitted because neither of them wanted to talk about it.

“Nikita and I, we weren’t always as close as we are now,” he admits. “During the night we were trapped in Everlock, we were constantly at each other’s throats.”

_ “… Really?” _

“I know it’s kind of weird to say now,” Matt says with a small laugh, “since I’d do anything for that girl, and I’m like eighty percent sure the feeling is reciprocated. Surviving these massacres together, it forces you to rely on the other person, to build a type of trust that ordinarily takes years to form, in the span of one  _ night. _ It's gonna be an unhealthy type of codependency. That's why she means so much to you.”

Tyler somehow sounds even more upset than when he started.  _ “Is that wrong?” _

“I don't think so.” Matt shakes his head. “Andrea is not a bad person. I think you guys might have accidentally hurt each other—”

“I  _ hurt  _ her?” There's rage in his words now, so intense it makes Matt's brows shoot up.  _ “She's the one who left me! She's the one who didn't answer my texts or calls for  _ months!”

“Do you remember why she left?” he pushes gently. “She mentioned it, very briefly, when she told us she's psychic. She could hear your thoughts, Tyler. In the first month after you guys returned, isn't that what you said? You were super close and then she just left? It's because she couldn't handle how you weren't coping with the trauma, on top of her own trauma.”

Tyler is silent for a long, long moment.  _ “So… is this my fault, then?” _

He sounds so tired, so resigned, and Matt aches hearing it. “No. Of course not. How you dealt with this and how she dealt with this, they're two different things that don't line up. Was she wrong to cut off your relationship like that without an explanation or goodbye? Absolutely. But she had her reasons for it.” He sighs. “Very often people are not made for each other but are forced together anyway. If you love them, you find a way to make it work.”

_ “Do I?”  _ Tyler exhales what could be a sigh or could be a sob.  _ “Do I love her?” _

“Well, I don't know about that, but I know she loves you. It might not be healthy but it's there and it exists. It's up to you to decide if you want to accept it or not. But Tyler,” he adds, “forgiveness doesn't mean you're excusing her behavior. It doesn't mean you forget what she did to you. It just gives you permission to move on. That's it, that's all it is. Okay?”

_ “How did you get so smart?” _

“Uh, a long history of competitiveness and curiosity,” Matt answers with a grin. He bites his lip. “Are you okay?”

_ “I mean, no?”  _ Tyler laughs.  _ “But I think I might be. Thanks, Matt.” _

“Of course.” 

He hangs up, and Matt lays back on the couch, resting his pounding head on the cushion. He loves his friends, and loves their trust in him, but he's a little afraid to be giving out advice when he's keeping such secrets from them. Also, yeah, he doesn't want the wellbeing of the relationships between the other survivors in his hands. He wants Tyler and Andrea to reconcile, but not at the expense of Tyler's emotional stability, and he wants Eva and Oli to make it, but not if their romance is entirely based on the bond that formed during their slaughtering. None of this is healthy and he knows it. But he doesn't want this group go fall apart, not when it's so close to being actually complete.

He boots his laptop up again, sipping his flat Diet Coke, trying to push away the feeling that he's teetering on a precipice and one false move is gonna send him over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops my fondness for Shane Dawson is showing
> 
> he's gonna be showing up in all three books so yeah keep an eye on him
> 
> we finally know what the dream was about! but what does it mean, really? more specifically, what does it mean for our survivors?
> 
> Up next: Eva and Oli go on a date. Will it turn out cute or angsty? Knowing me, probably both.


	11. 10. Eva - inner circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inner circles: a series of rings representing how close one's relationships are with each person they allow into their lives--the innermost circle meaning the closest, the outermost meaning the furthest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only warning here is that my aroace ass has NO idea how to write romance I apologize

_Eva_

Eva glares at the swirling gray clouds overhead as she thumbs through the comments on her most recent video. “You better keep your rain to yourself,” she threatens, pointing her phone skyward for effect. It’s been clear for days now, _why_ does everything have to go wrong the afternoon she has a date?

 _Date._ She has a _date._ With _Oli._ Acknowledging it makes her giddy as hell. It must’ve been apparent in her Get Ready With Me, too, because a good portion of the comments are all prodding her about who her new sweetheart is.

She can’t wipe the grin from her face as she tweets out, **_excuse the HECK outta you, who says there’s anybody new in my life?_ **

And just because she can’t help herself, she tacks on a wink emoji or two. It’s technically not a lie—Oli isn’t “new” in her life. Just closer. Physical. Tangible. Solid. Sculpted like the cliffsides you’d find in Hawaii, like he’d been carved out of the rock itself.

Eva isn’t immune to her survival partner’s good looks. Even folks who aren’t attracted to men have a hard time resisting that boyish grin, the mischief that dances in the brown of his eyes, how his hair might be blonde and might be brunette but no one can agree on which. It’s more than that, though. It’s the gentleness. The kindness exuding from every inch of his large, muscular frame. He’s like Ferdinand the Bull—looks like he can kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll. Shaped like a friend. Like someone she could trust.

That’s dangerous as hell, she thinks to herself with grim resignation, because it _is,_ though she isn’t sure why. Things have been going relatively well, ignoring Andrea’s prodigal return (and to be honest that’s all she intends to do in regards to Andrea, _thank you very much)._ They’re not in any danger, it’s been years since she and Oli returned from the twenties in the first place, by all means they should be _safe._

So why doesn’t she feel safe?

“Hey, Eva!”

She turns at her name curled in that wonderful accent, spotting Oli walking towards her, a backpack slung across his shoulders and golden hair ruffling in the breeze. She smiles, amending her previous statement. She does feel safe. And even though that scares her, she decides that when he looks at her like that, she really doesn’t mind.

He bounds up her driveway in long strides, overshooting her position a little but using the momentum to peck her on the cheek. Eva jolts in pleasant surprise—she can’t remember the last time someone kissed her cheek, never mind someone she dated—but is suitably distracted by his cologne, which makes him smell like how walking in the snowy woods on a crisp winter morning feels. Or how she imagines it feels, considering she’s never experienced that in her life.

There’s a first for everything, she thinks in a daze as she realizes that Oli’s talking.

“I hope you brought an umbrella,” he says with a little grin.

She arches a brow at him. “I thought you said umbrellas are for tourists.”

“I never said that.” His grin widens. “Out loud. To your face.”

 _God, you’re cute._ She blinks the thought away as the implication of his statement catches up to her. “Wait, we’re not walking there, are we?”

“It’s not far.”

“Is it indoors?”

“Absolutely not.”

She squints suspiciously at him, and he returns the look with a beatific smile. A beat pases but she can’t keep it up, her exasperation melting into fondness as she takes his proffered hand and they start up the sidewalk.

“If I catch a cold after this, I’m putting you on my hit list.”

He smirks in response, and she realizes that came out wrong. She slaps his shoulder. “Not like that! You know what I mean. I _hate_ rain.”

“We need it for this,” he promises.

Eva’s aware that any other person, any other time would freak her out with all this cloak-and-dagger date night stuff. It’s been a regular thing with her, even before the first slaughtering—she tends to keep people at bay, hold them at arm’s length, at the edge of her inner circle in the best attempt at protecting her heart. Only a few people have _ever_ wiggled their way into her core. Tyler is one of them. Oli’s the other, but it didn’t happen the way it normally does. She’s supposed to make a conscious choice to let this person in, but Oli seemed to always exist there, nestled up against her heart, in the deepest part of her soul where no one can hurt her, and for the life her she can’t remember how he got there.

Oli swings their arms as they trek up the hill. Eva’s been in this house, this neighborhood, for a very short time now, but she loves the sense of community she gets from it. Even though the roads are all hills and walking them is a chore and a half, she feels safe here. There are no ghosts, no evil demons, no evil humans doing the bidding of evil demons. There’s her and Oli climbing the hill, Oli humming some Panic at the Disco song she almost can’t identify because it’s so offkey. When she figures it out, she joins in, and Dying in LA accompanies the two of them, feeling awfully appropriate in the weather that really drives home the season.

They crest the hill. The sun hasn’t quite set yet—it’s only four-thirty, after all—but it’s low enough to sink below the storm clouds, giving off the stark contrast of marigold spilling out from under a dark, bruised curtain, painting the world in light from where it peeks out from behind one of the hills that gave 90210 its name. Beyond that she knows is the water, but she can’t see it, tucked between mountains, a ways from the city.

Oli stands there crowned in sunset gold, his not-blonde, not-brunette hair reflecting it like a halo. He’s gazing down the hill, where the neighborhood park is, but Eva can’t take her eyes off of him, thinking he might be the only man she’s ever considered “beautiful.”

He peers at the darkening gray sky and then at his phone to check the time, nodding once before turning to her with a wide grin.

“Race you to the park.”

“Wait, what?”

But he’s leaning, letting gravity overtake him, still with that damned smile that’s kicking up a tsunami in her gut. His hand tugs on hers and for a split second, she’s the only thing keeping him from plummeting back to Earth.

And then he lets go.

Eva’s too stunned to react at first, watching as he catches himself and sprints at a blinding speed down the sidewalk. Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she’s following, hearing the wind scream past her ears, mingling with the shriek of laughter ripped from her lungs. This? This feels like flying, like danger and she can’t be bothered to care. The hill is steep, it’s a long way down, but falling is _fun,_ and she’s never thought so before now.

She’s long-legged and so overtakes Oli with ease. The wind is howling, the storm is gonna break any minute now, she can _feel_ it in her bones, but suddenly rain doesn’t seem so bad.

This is dangerous, oh it’s so dangerous, she’s gonna crash but it will have been _worth it,_ she’s flying now, she isn’t scared, she’s happier than she’s been in years.

She hits the bottom too fast. The heat has disappeared, replaced by the furious breeze whipping her natural curls about her face like something was stolen from it. Her feet don’t slow, the wall of the park’s restroom building coming up way too fast—

And suddenly Oli’s there, wrapping strong arms around her, lifting her up and spinning her around like he’d done that night on the balcony, expelling the excess momentum and then setting her down on the sidewalk again.

“Holy shit!” she breathes.

“Are you okay?” He looks her up and down, scanning for any sign of injury.

Eva vibrates in place, grinning, finally understanding why people are adrenaline junkies. “That was terrifying! But so cool!”

He matches her grin with one of his own, an amazed, disbelieving one as he shakes his head. “You surprise me every day, Eva Gutowski.”

The statement takes her off guard, and some of the thrill of falling fades a little as she takes him in. He doesn’t let her linger, though, grabbing her hand again and pulling her gently, leading her around the side of the building and into the park itself.

It’s nothing special, really: a playground filled with wood chips and surrounded by grass; a white picket fence separating it from the sidewalk and street; a covered eating area complete with picnic tables and a fire pit on one side; and a square, brick outhouse in one corner. Eva comes here sometimes to skate when no one’s watching—she doesn’t think her neighbors would mind all that much, but then again she is a brown girl skating in a fairly rich, fairly white neighborhood, and it’s literally always better to be safe than sorry.

She didn’t bring her longboard with her, and Oli’s kind of (endearingly) terrible at it anyway, so she isn’t quite sure what they’re doing here, or why Oli is leading her to a pair of easels just standing in the middle of the grassy field, an 8x8 canvas on each one.

“Are we painting?” she asks as Oli drops her hand so he can shrug off his backpack.

“Sorta,” he says, dodging the question. “Hope you’re comfortable with ruining those clothes though.”

Eva frowns. “Why?”

Oli pulls out tubes of watercolors from his backpack, wiggling them at her. “‘Cause they’re about to be ruined.”

They set up palettes and rags for when they mess up, and when Eva asks where the brushes are she’s horrified when Oli tells her they’ll be fingerpainting instead. He’s right, her clothes are about to be _ruined._ She’s glad she didn’t wear a wig today.

“What do we paint?” she wonders, frowning at the canvas.

Oli shrugs. “Whatever you feel like.” He glances at the sky. “Don't worry about making it perfect. Art isn't supposed to be perfect.”

Eva blinks. That doesn't sound right to her, to be honest, but Oli is already slathering bright yellow paint onto his canvas, using his fingers to direct the cacophony of colors. She follows suit, dipping her pinkie into the blue on her palette. It's cold on her fingertip and her initial reaction is to recoil, but instead she smears it on one corner of the canvas.

She doesn't exactly have an idea in mind, just lets her hands do the thinking, mixing colors and drawing shapes and then shadows and contrast. At first she'd wanted to paint the image of the sun below the storm clouds, a picture of purples, blues, and bright orange, but as she paints it shifts into a choppy ocean crashing onto shore, a turbulent picture of where the water meets the earth. It's a familiar picture, a recurring nightmare she's had since the first slaughtering. She hasn't had the dream in a long while, and though the thought of it still fills her with dread, she's calmer than she's felt in weeks, months, even with her hands and clothes splattered with paint. She and Oli work in the comfortable silence of just existing in the same place as one another.

A raindrop hits her hand. Eva stares at it in muted surprise.

Oli looks up at the sky and exclaims, “All right, time to go!”

She's still very confused, but she helps get the paints back in the ziplock they came in, using the water fountain to rinse her hands off.

Oli stops her as she reaches for her canvas though, grinning and saying, “This is the fun part.”

He takes her by the hand again, pulling her to the covered eating area on the other side of the outhouse. By then the rain has started pouring in earnest, soaking Eva as she ducks into safety with a little shriek. They laugh, still relatively dry, as the storm finally breaks, dumping its melancholy on the ground below.

Oli hands her a towel and she dries her hands and neck. “Why are we leaving the paintings out there?” she asks, handing it back. “I wasn't finished with mine.”

He shrugs. “Neither was I. That's the point. The rain takes care of the rest.”

“What?”

“You'll see.” Next from his backpack he grabs some sandwiches, giving one to her and then a bag of barbecue Lays. They eat, sitting on the picnic table with their feet on the seats because they're both heathens, watching the rain fall. It's not as desperate as it seemed half an hour ago. The raindrops are soft and gentle hitting the eating area's roof. Eva feels so calm.

She nudges Oli's shoulder with hers. “Why did you do this? For our date, I mean?”

Oli lowers the sandwich he was about to take a bite out of. He stares at his feet. “I kind of love to paint,” he confesses, like it's some sort of secret. “After I got back from the slaughtering, my mum got me a therapist who was big on art therapy. She wasn't the greatest but I really loved fingerpainting, so I continued it long after I stopped seeing her.

“I kind of discovered storm painting by accident, I was just outside one day trying to race the rain, and when it fell I just kind of let it and… I don't know, I think I just love the idea of putting all of my hurt on canvas and then just kind of have it… wash away.” He flushes up his neck, not looking at her. “I wanted this to be special. Different. I wanted to show you a part of me I haven't shown anyone else. So, uh. This is it.”

Eva just stares at him. He doesn't meet her gaze, staring down at the sandwich he turns over and over in his hands. Her heart pounds as she leans in, brain screaming, _This is too close!_ as she presses her lips to his cheek.

She lingers in his pocket for another moment, eyes closed so she can pretend, murmuring, “Thank you.”

He swallows. “For what?”

Eva pulls away, looks away. “For trusting me with this.”

Her gut is twisting in knots, still unerringly fearful. It's the good kind, she tells it, watching the rain. It's the kind that means she can.

Oli holds out his hand, and she links her fingers with his. They don't say anything else for a long time.

-

The painting turns out fine. Better than fine, even, the splatter pattern of raindrops hitting the canvas and then dripping down, pulled by gravity, makes it looks like the painting is weeping. Oli grins when he sees it, saying, “Hey, that's pretty good! Well done, Eva.” And she glows like a goddamn puppy.

Oli had painted a sunflower, his hands twelve times more skilled than hers. In the rain it looked like the flower was bent with the weight of the water, dropping, spilling its yellow onto the grass beneath it. It's beautiful.

They wait for Tyler to pick him up. Only an hour and a half has passed, but it feels both like it's been forever and no time at all. Neither of them talk—they don't really need to. They know each other already, and whatever else they share is just pleasant surprise from here on out. Instead, they rock back and forth in the rain to the song of the storm, Eva's arms around Oli's neck, his hands placed on either side of her waist.

From here he can't see her fear, can't hear how her breath catches to be anywhere near him. If she's crying, the rain hides it. Her entire soul sings to be this close to her partner after being separated so long, like she's been reunited with the missing piece to a puzzle she's been trying to finish her entire life. It feels right but dangerous, it feels like this could snap at any second and she'll wake up and everything will be wrong.

He smells like snow in the woods in the wintertime. His skin beneath her fingertips feels like trust she can't give and yet already has. She thinks, very suddenly, that she wants to spend the rest of her life with him, and the conviction is terrifying.

Tyler pulls up. They break apart, smiles lingering on their lips, as Oli pulls one final thing out of his backpack.

Eva laughs. It's an umbrella. “You brought one?”

“Yeah, of course.” He hands it to her. “You hate the rain.”

It's not so bad, she thinks as he loads the paintings and easels into the backseat of Tyler's car. Tyler raises a brow at Eva and mimes _“call me!”_ when Oli isn't looking. Eva rolls her eyes and nods. She's sure Tyler wants all the details.

Oli turns back to her. “Are you sure you don't want me to walk you home?”

Eva smiles at him. “And have Tyler follow at a lowkey pace to give us “privacy?” No thanks.”

“I'm offended!” Tyler calls from inside his car.

It's still raining, so Eva opens the umbrella and holds it over her head. Oli steps beneath it, very close. Very close, too close, her heart picks up double time, her breath gets very short. She thinks she should kiss him.

Oli searches her eyes. “I'll varnish them when I get back home,” he says.

“Varnish?”

“Yeah, just put some finishing on them, make sure they don't run.” He smiles. “I'll give it to you at group.”

“Or you could keep it,” she blurts out. His brows furrow, a tiny flicker of hurt in his eyes, but she rushes forward before he can get the wrong idea. “You did this to show me a part of you that you haven't shown anyone else, right?” She inhales. “What I painted is mine. Uh, it's yours, now.”

It takes him another second to comprehend what she's saying, and then his face splits into that boyish grin she loves so much. She stares at his mouth, distracted, and then he's stepping back, back into the rain, then into the front seat of Tyler's car.

“I'll see you Sunday?” he asks, and she nods, feeling bereft again.

Tyler twinkles a little wave at her and then pulls out of the parking lot. Within seconds, he and Oli are gone.

Eva stands under her umbrella in the rain, thinking that she should've kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o k a y I owe yall a HUGE apology, first of all I was sick last week so I wasn't able to post and THEN I made a last minute traveling decision so instead of putting up two chapters today (to make up for last week) as was my intention, I was only able to get up one. So. My bad. :/
> 
> That said, I will try to get that second chapter up sometime this week (Thursday at the LATEST) so please look out for that, and again guys I'm super sorry.
> 
> Up next: another week, another group therapy session. For Tyler, though, this one is going to be a little bit different.


	12. 11. Tyler - love languages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> love languages: the five ways we give and accept love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a general depression, abandonment issues warning for the chapter, but it's light stuff and should be okay.

_Tyler_

The espresso shot burns as Tyler tosses it back, scalding his tongue immediately only for it to be soothed by the cool milk. He grimaces, placing the eight ounce cup back onto the bar. “Hit me again.”

Myling tuts at him, taking the cup. “I’m cutting you off.”

“But Myling,” Tyler whines.

“That was your third undertow, Tyler,” she informs him, like he can’t count or something. “Now, are you going to say what’s been bothering you?”

“Who says I’m bothered?”

She gives him that _look,_ the one that means “please don’t bullshit me, boy, I’m old and impatient.” He sighs, unable to compete with that. “You’re going to meet Andrea today.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Ah, did your partner finally come to her senses then? And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoo her out with my broom.”

“Because I told her she could come.” He’s a bit sullen about it, but it’s the right thing to do. Isn’t it?

Myling rolls her eyes and mutters some Tagalog Tyler can’t even hope to interpret before calling, “Romell, can you ring and bar?”

Her grandson, a kid about Nikita’s age, gives her a thumbs up from the register, but she’s already taking off her apron and coming around the counter so she can grab Tyler by the hand. He squawks as she pulls him to a table in the corner.

“Sit,” she orders, and he does without even thinking of protesting.

She sits in the chair opposite of him, then reaches across the table and takes both of his hands. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Myling—”

“Tyler,” she returns, before he can even get going, “you’re here an hour before you should be, asking for more coffee than is good for you. You say you gave this girl permission to attend your little group, but you don’t want her here. Why?”

“I do want her here,” Tyler argues. But then he thinks about it, and his resolve falters. “I mean… I mean I _don’t,_ I don’t want her here, I don’t want her anywhere near me but I can’t… I can’t ask for that? I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” He blinks rapidly, feeling his chest tighten. “Because she’s trying, and she’s going through a rough patch right now, and she had her reasons for leaving, and—”

“She hurt you.”

“But she didn’t mean to,” he says weakly.

“No, and she still hurt you. It happens. People who love each other can hurt each other, too. People who hurt each other can love each other.”

Tyler feels another thrill of anger at the insinuation that love can exist where pain does. It’s supposed to be one or the other, there can’t be both. There shouldn’t be both. Matt had said the same thing when he’d phoned him a week ago, seeking comfort or advice on what to do about his survival partner. Both he and Myling insist that he loves Andrea, that she even might love him, but if that’s the case then why is he _so angry?_

Myling squeezes his hands, bringing his attention back to her. She has both brows raised. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

He takes a deep breath. He won’t cry, not in public like this, not in front of one of his dearest friends. “I… I’m? Angry? I don’t know, I don’t know why but I am so angry I feel like I’m choking on it, but then I feel guilty for being angry, and I’m confused and I’m scared about how this is going to go, and I’m _tired,_ I’m so tired, I know that if she’s going to be joining this group I can’t be angry or upset with her or this is going to fall apart so I have to just _swallow this_ and _let it happen_ and I’m so… angry about it.”

The urge to run is strong. He can’t _breathe,_ it feels like the air has stilled all around him. His eyes are stinging and he’s looking anywhere but Myling’s face, trying to wrestle his emotions under his control. This is so hard, it’s so stupid, it’s so—fucking ridiculous that he can’t figure out how to word it or feel about it. This should be cut and dry, it should be obvious. Either he should be furious with Andrea and never let her into his life again or he should forgive her and allow her a place amongst the group. One protects him but makes him a bad person, and the other makes him good but exposes him to future hurt. There’s no way to win here.

Myling hums. First in thought, and then some song he doesn’t recognize. Tyler didn’t even realize he’s vibrating in place, overly caffeinated and trying to expel the anxiety and hurt and rage flooding through him. His face is hot. He’s ready to cry. This would be humiliating if he had it in him to care about the scene he’s making. Myling hums and rubs her thumbs on the back of Tyler’s hands. The tension eases, bit by bit. It’s a lovely song, and Tyler’s tired. He sinks back into the chair like his strings have been cut, still keeping a death grip on his tears so they won’t fall. A small breeze stirs strands of dark hair from Myling’s forehead, caresses Tyler’s cheek as it passes, and Tyler sighs, thinking he can’t keep doing this.

“I’ve been spiraling for like a week now,” he murmurs as her song ends. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Love is messy, even for you, _baget._ You get to be my age, you learn.”

“Learn that none of this matters?”

She smacks him lightly across the knuckles. “All pain ends, boy, at some point or another. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

Tyler’s shoulders slump. “I don’t understand.”

“No, and I suspect you won’t until you let yourself hurt.”

“I hurt whether I let myself or not,” Tyler grumbles.

“Then why keep such distance?” She pulls on his hands until he meets her eyes. “Tell me if this is true. Your friend Andrea, she left you.”

“True.”

“And when she left it hurt you.”

His lips tremble. “True.”

“And it hurt you because you loved her dearly.”

“True.”

“And?”

“And…” His breath quickens again. He’s crying before he even realizes that tears are slipping down his cheeks. He’s not brave enough to say it, but—“And I still do.”

Myling nods. “And so it still hurts.” His hands tremble, still grasped within hers. She releases one of them so she can cup his cheek, using a thumb to wipe the tears under his glasses. “But when you love someone, Tyler, as much as you love this girl, no force on Earth can break it. Whether she is with you here or worlds away, that love exists. One act of pain, even one that hurt you this badly, is not going to destroy the bond you have. If she is here to make amends, it within your power to let her. But that choice is yours. Only yours.”

Tyler has to work to pry his jaw loose enough to speak. “How will I know what to choose?”

“Tyler,” she tuts, standing, letting her hand linger on his cheek. “I think you already have.” She kisses the top of his head, whispering into his hair, “Just because it’s over now does not mean it didn’t hurt. Understand?”

 _“Salamat,”_ he tells her.

 _“Salamat,”_ she corrects his pronunciation again, smiling, like she knows he’s been saying it wrong on purpose just to tease her. Then she’s gone, back to her spot on the bar. Tyler stays where he is, struggling to breathe normally again. He hates crying. He feels like he’s cried enough to fill an ocean over the past week, trying to figure out exactly how he’s feeling and what he’s supposed to do about it.

Myling’s right (of course), he can’t not let Andrea back into his life. It’s all he’s wanted for over a year now. She’s here, and it happened, and neither of them can go back in time and change that. If she really wants to try to fix this, he should let her. He will let her. He’s too tired to be angry anymore.

But… it still hurt. It still hurts _now,_ even, even as resignation settles in his shoulders. It hurts now. But maybe one day it won’t. And in the meantime he and Andrea can meet somewhere in the middle, because he _does_ still want her. Does still love her.

She hurt him and he’s hurt, and he still loves her. _Both are true._

Tyler scowls at the voice of Dr. Thompson, his DBT therapist the first month after he returned from the slaughtering, echoes in his head. It’s a mantra he’d remind Tyler of every time he wanted to contradict himself and how he was feeling. _Okay, Dr. Thompson. You were right. Happy?_

He’s not here right now, but Tyler can see his pleased little smile at Tyler’s admission of defeat. _Both are true._ He can be hurt and angry and still allow Andrea in his life. Healing takes forever. Might as well try to speed up the process.

He sighs, glancing at his phone. There’s still twenty minutes left before the others arrive. However this session goes, it promises to at least be interesting.

****-** **

Oli and Eva arrive together. Tyler has to work to keep the smirk off of his face. They’d gone for a lunch date a couple hours earlier, with Eva promising to have Oli back in time like this is a romcom where Tyler’s the overbearing father, Oli’s the beautiful but innocent teenage girl, and Eva’s the mysterious but kind boyfriend trying to win his favor.

Ordinarily, he’d point this out to his roommate just to see his ears turn red, but Tyler actually wants this to work out. They’re cute together, they obviously belong together, and it’s a nice break in the tension that seems ever-present these days.

“You kids have fun?” he teases as they come in, each holding a coffee cup in hand.

Oli’s looking at his cup in trepidation. “I think this might have pumpkin in it.”

“What’s wrong with pumpkin?” Eva asks with a little grin. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

“I could be,” he says defensively.

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Eva, did you let Oli drive?”

 _“Hell no,”_ she retorts, “I don’t have a death wish.”

Oli pouts. “I’m getting better, you guys! I start driver’s ed tomorrow, even.”

Tyler snaps and points at him. “That is an _excellent_ video idea.”

“No,” Eva says, shaking her head. “No, not a good plan, Oli please do not film yourself driving a car in America for the first time.”

“Why not?” the two boys ask in unison, before high fiving each other.

Tyler’s nerves melt away. He loves his friends. He loves this coffeeshop. Everything else in life seems really complicated and really stressful but here, with his friends, he finally feels safe.

Matt comes in then. Tyler raises his brows at the state he’s in. The bruises beneath his eyes seem to be getting deeper, and his “hair wall” (as he so lovingly dubs his long brown bangs) is extra floofy, implying he’s been running through his hands through it like he does when he gets stressed out.

Tyler clicks his tongue. “Baby still keeping you up?”

“Huh?” Matt startles a little bit, blinking as he registers the words. A wan smile flickers on his lips. “Oh, yeah, I guess that’s just a regular thing with new parents, huh?” He points at his face. “Is it bad?”

“Barely noticeable.”

“Oof,” he says, blowing out a breath. “Maybe I’ll borrow some of Nikita’s makeup.”

“Oh, I don’t _think_ so,” says Nikita from the doorway. “First of all, honey, you’re a skinny lil white boy and _nothing_ I have would match that skin tone. Secondly, no amount of makeup can fix that face.”

“Good to see you too, Nikita,” Matt says dryly as she passes. She blows him a kiss to show she’s only kidding, bouncing to her favorite spot in the armchair next to Matt’s stool. Eva hops up on stage as usual, Oli sits on the arm of the couch closest to it so he can be relatively Eva’s height, and Tyler remains standing, staring at the door.

Nikita pipes up, “She’s getting some coffee,” and the tension drains from Tyler’s system, tension he hadn’t even known he’d been holding. He offers a smile of thanks to Nikita and sits on the couch Oli’s perched on. His heart is thudding in his ears, and he’s annoyed by the reaction, because how many times is he going to go through this? He’s already accepted that he’ll give his partner another chance, there’s no reason to be scared anymore.

Andrea arrives seconds later, shoulders hunched up to her ears, eyes on the floor. And as usual, Tyler’s heart plummets at the sight of her. He scans her, worried about how timid she looks, and then realizing the reason for that as she glances around the room for a place to sit. For a second, their eyes meet, and they can’t tear their gaze away from each other. Then Tyler is scooting over on the couch before he can even think about it, towards Oli, leaving room on the couch for her if she wants it.

The room is silent as she crosses it, hesitating only a moment before sitting on the edge of the cushion, looking ready to bolt. Tyler aches, knowing this isn’t the Andrea he remembers. But then again, he’s different too. They all are.

Everything settles and for a long moment nothing happens. He breaks the stillness by reaching into his backpack and pulling out the sixth DBT workbook he’d bought, weeks, months ago, back when he’d hoped she would come. He’d kept it instead of sending it back, maybe because he’d hoped, maybe because every time he looked at it he felt sick. Either way, it’s hers now, and when he hands it to her she takes it.

Tyler clears his throat. “Uh, well, I figured we could give a brief overview of our slaughterings, like we did at the first session. Just to… just to catch everyone up. If that’s okay.”

Andrea speaks up, voice low and raspy. “Nikita’s told me a bit about hers and Matt’s.”

Tyler catches a quick glance thrown Matt’s way by Nikita, but her survival partner doesn’t react aside from nodding his head. Meanwhile, Oli and Eva have a silent discussion of their own, with Eva scowling and Oli giving a shrug in response. She rolls her eyes and Oli turns back to the others, giving a rather cliffnotes version of their slaughtering, with Andrea listening intently.

Tyler studies his friends. Nikita and Matt both look indifferent to Andrea’s presence, while Eva has her arms crossed over her chest and a glower just barely contained in the clenching of her jaw. Oli has an arm lounging on the stage so he can put one hand on Eva’s knee, but he’s listening to Andrea, nodding, leaning towards her, his face open and patient. Tyler feels a rush of affection for him, and Eva too, because he knows both of their reactions are out of concern for him.

Oli finishes explaining with, “So now we visit the cemetery where everyone is buried, we go once a month on the 21st.”

“Well, most of us,” Nikita mutters, which answers the question Tyler had about the October meetup next week, much to his disappointment.

“Okay,” he says, trying to swallow it, “now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, uh, today is all about love languages.”

“Oh, I know this one,” Oli says, raising his brows. “This is the five different ways we prefer to give and receive love, right?”

“Yes, exactly!” Tyler beams at him. “If y’all turn to page 96…”

The session goes well, considering. He has them write down what they think their love languages are, reminding them that how they give love might be the same as how their receive it, but also might not be. “For instance, I give love by spending quality time with my friends, but I receive love through acts of service. Matt?”

The eldest of the group holds up the worksheet. “I receive love through words of affirmation, but I can’t decide if I _give_ love through words of affirmation or physical touch?”

Nikita snorts. “Matt, you’re the touchiest person I know.”

“You’re also pretty good with validation and advice,” Tyler notes thoughtfully.

The others nod in agreement and Matt flushes. “Uh, I guess both work too,” he mutters.

“You can do both,” Tyler says, amused at the sight of Matt getting flustered. “Honestly, the more you have the healthier your brain is, I think, but it’s not a bad thing if you don’t, or if you don’t know.”

Of the five love languages—words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time, acts of service, and gifts—Nikita gives love through quality time and receives it through acts of service, Oli gives and receives through words of affirmation, Eva gives through quality time and receives through acts of service, and Andrea… Andrea remains silent, observing the others. Tyler knows that look on her face, the one that says she’s planning something and is gathering the courage to put it into motion.

As he thinks it, her head whips his way. They stare at each other for half a second before she squeezes her eyes shut. Tyler frowns. He tries it out. _Andrea. It’s okay._

“It’s not,” she murmurs, stopping the light-hearted conversation everyone else was having. “If I can’t figure out how to control this—”

Tyler sighs. He scoots closer to her. And he puts his arm around her shoulder. A current, almost electric, runs through them, causing both to tense until it settles. Then, Andrea, lays her head on Tyler’s shoulder. He leans his head against hers. It’s a sideways hug but it’s more than that. A proper reunion. In that instant all of his fear and anger dissipates. She’s home, here, with him, and the hurt he’s felt from her leaving, the hurt that felt like a mountain he couldn’t conquer no matter how high he climbed, suddenly seems incredibly, ridiculously small.

“Acts of service,” Andrea breathes.

“What?”

“I give… and receive through acts of service.” She sighs. “So… Eva, can I have the stage?”

Eva hops down from the stage, surprise coloring her face as Andrea gets up and takes her place. Andrea rubs her arms, like she’s cold, and maybe the air in the room is a bit stagnant, or else Tyler’s holding his breath, trying to see where this is going.

“Okay,” she mutters, “I like. I like _never_ sing, so please please please appreciate this because it will never happen again.”

She nods at Nikita, who smirks, holding up her phone, where a song starts playing.

Tyler gasps, loud, dramatic, the same one he always gasps whenever he hears a Lady Gaga song out in the wild. He’s seen A Star is Born literally a dozen times (thrice with Eva and Oli, once with Matt, he’s still trying to coax Nikita to go with him but she flatly responds with “I don’t do musicals”).

So of course he knows this song, even if Andrea’s voice is breathier than Lady Gaga’s and the cover she’s doing is a different version than the one in the movie, he’s still losing his mind as Andrea opens her mouth.

_“That Arizona sky burning in your eyes_   
_Y ou look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire_   
_It's buried in my soul like California gold  
You found the light in me that I couldn't find_

_So when I'm all choked up_   
_But I can't find the words_   
_Every time we say goodbye_   
_Baby, it hurts_   
_When the sun goes down_   
_And the band won't play  
I'll always remember us this way_

_Lovers in the night_   
_Poets trying to write_   
_We don't know how to rhyme_   
_But, damn, we try_   
_But all I really know_   
_You're where I wanna go  
The part of me that's you will never die_

_So when I'm all choked up_   
_But I can't find the words_   
_Every time we say goodbye_   
_Baby, it hurts_   
_When the sun goes down_   
_And the band won't play  
I'll always remember us this way_

_I don't wanna be just a memory, baby_   
_When I'm all choked up_   
_But I can't find the words_   
_Every time we say goodbye_   
_Baby, it hurts_   
_When the sun goes down_   
_And the band won't play_   
_I'll always remember us this way, oh, yeah_   
_When you look at me_   
_And the whole world fades  
I'll always remember us this way”_

Matt’s beaming. Oli is too, a bit softer, while Nikita puts her phone away, sitting back looking incredibly smug. Tyler can’t even see past his tears as Andrea’s voice trails off. She’d only looked at him as she sang. Her voice is clear, beautiful, she’d used her head voice at the high parts instead of belting like Gaga does and despite everything, it’s the best cover he’s ever heard in his life.

Everyone is quiet as they wait for Tyler to react. Andrea gnaws on her lower lip, climbing down from the stage. “I lied to you,” she says into the silence. “I left you. I’m sorry. I hurt you, so deeply, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”

Tyler can do nothing but cry, and open his arms. Andrea sucks in a breath, crying too as she flies into them and it’s the first time he’s really gotten to hold her in months and it’s like suddenly he can breathe again. Andrea sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and he shushes her, inhaling deep as they stand there together, _finally_ together after so long, and Tyler’s over the moon. He’s never been this happy in his entire life.

“This is beautiful,” Matt stage whispers to Nikita as the two finally pull apart.

“Shut up,” Tyler says like a petulant child, an image that is not helped by him wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I just got serenaded, you’d cry too.”

“I’m usually the one doing the serenading,” he responds, looking thoughtful, before turning to Nikita.

She cuts him off with an eye roll. “Don’t even think about it.”

“You’re no fun.”

Oli chuckles as they all settle back in their seats. “Nobody gives or prefers to receive gifts, huh?”

Matt snorts. “We’re Millennials, we’re bad at gifts. We were taught that nothing is really free.”

“Any time I get to spend with you guys is a gift,” Tyler says, and they laugh, but he was being serious. “I mean it. You guys, we’re here, finally. We’re all here, together, and it just… it feels right.”

“Everyone but Joey,” Matt points out.

They all solemn at that. Tyler wishes he knew how to get in contact with their mutual friend, the one truly tying them all together. But, for now, as the room dissolves into separate little conversations, and Andrea settles her head back on Tyler’s shoulder—for now he has everything he needs, and nothing is wrong. And he’s so happy.

That’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, good lord, I'm so sorry, I'm gonna try to get the next chapter out sometime this week but I said that last week too so I'm like, very behind and hoo boy am I stressed about it
> 
> researching Tagalog has informed me that either Filipino culture is rather uncouth (in a good way, kinda like Australians where the more offensive it is the more affectionate it is) or that my lola is hilariously rude. either outcome delights me. additionally, Romell is a name taken from my cousin, so hi Romell, I hope you never find this :P
> 
> this chapter gave me a LOT of trouble so I really hope you liked it? Is anybody even still reading this lmao I feel like I've failed y'all, I really am sorry. I'm working on it. I finally have a laptop! It's all good, I hope.
> 
> Up next: Nikita finds herself stuck between a rock and a hard place and tries to figure out if having friends is really worth it.


	13. 12. Nikita - FAST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F - (be) Fair  
> A - (no) Apologies  
> S - Stick to Values  
> T - (be) Truthful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small depression warning,, I might've projected, my bad

_Nikita_

Sometimes, on her darkest days, Nikita misses Everlock.

Not, like, the place. Because hell no. And not the memories there, because they were all awful. Not even her hella cute outfit, with the boots that looked way better on her than Strongman’s bitchass girlfriend literally any day of the week. No, what she misses is the fact that she only had one other person to take care of who wasn’t herself.

Thinking about Manny makes her sick these days. Everything reminds her of him. She’s been drifting from the friends she used to have—Gabby and Laura, she hasn’t talked to either of them in what feels like weeks, maybe months. She hasn’t really had the need to. Outside of her family and her manager, the only people she talks to is the group. Even her videos are few and far between lately (the last one had been over a week ago, when she’d done Eva’s makeup and Eva had done hers for their sleepover).

Mostly, she’s okay with that. She doesn’t claim to be a social person. She’s prickly as a cactus, but she’s also  _ different _ now. The friendships she’s built with Matt, with Tyler and Eva, even with Andrea—they’re built on something stronger than just makeup and connections and ambition. She isn’t the fluffy beauty guru she used to be, and so she no longer has anything in common with her old friends. At least, not anything that matters.

But that leaves her with a problem. It means that she  _ cares _ now, about too many people. It means that she wants them to be happy. It means that when two of them hate each other, suddenly she’s stuck here in the middle of it without a clue to whose side she should take.

And it’s going to drive her up the wall.

Andrea pokes at the toast on her plate. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. She hates me, Kitkat.”

Nikita resists the urge to roll her eyes at the nickname. “She doesn’t hate you.”

“Yeah? And who’s the mind reader of the group again?”

“You said the only mind you can read is Tyler’s.”

“It is,” she grumbles, pushing her bangs back from her eyes before resting her chin in her hands. “But you don’t have to be psychic to feel the waves of loathing radiating off of her.”

Nikita sighs. Things have been rather tense lately, despite their (totally successful, flawlessly pulled off) plan to get Andrea back in Tyler’s good graces. Eva, unfortunately, isn’t as easy to convince as Pushover Oakley is. Nikita would know—when she and Eva made up, it took a yelling match that nearly upgraded to a full blown catfight that Nikita doesn’t want to admit she could’ve lost before both of them finally admitted what was really wrong, and how to move past that.

She thinks about what had snagged Eva back then: Nikita’s refusal to go to the cemetery and how stung Tyler had been. She’s his Mama Bear—well, actually, she’s the group’s mama bear just in general, but him especially. And even if it wasn’t just Tyler’s easily wounded demeanor—bless him, but she’s pretty sure she’s seen jellyfish with thicker skin—Eva had been the one Tyler turned to after Andrea left. Eva had been the one to pick him up and dust him off and make sure he was okay. If Nikita inadvertently hurting Tyler’s feelings resulted in blatant distrust from Eva, she can’t even imagine the kind of rage she’s feeling towards Andrea, the original reason behind that sensitivity.

Andrea’s shoulders slump. “See? You agree with me.”

Nikita sighs. Having a psychic for a roommate is actually hella inconvenient.

They’ve figured out that Andrea is primarily an empath, reading the emotions of others around her and being able to influence them with her own. She also gets premonitions of the future and visions of the past, but those can’t be triggered or controlled. And, of course, despite the mental shields she and Nikita have been working on, a stray thought or two from Tyler slips through.

Matt has some theories on that, and is even coming over today to help test them. In the meantime, though, Nikita has to make sure her friend doesn’t self implode first.

When did they become friends, she wonders. Was it the second she saw her sobbing on Tyler’s porch, half in hysterics, without knowing the context? Was it hearing her story of how she and her girlfriend had been forcibly outed and now she’s getting dragged for it? Or realizing that she had no place to go and that Nikita was the only one who could set her up so she wouldn’t have to live out on the streets, or go back to her parents?

She should never have fallen in with these people. Altruism sucks.

And now Eva’s angry with her, for being nice to Andrea, helping her get back on her feet. She’s probably pissed with Matt and Tyler, too, for forgiving her so easily. Nikita doesn’t know about Oli—she doesn’t know him, period, though even she can tell he’s got a good heart, so it wouldn’t surprise her if he decides to side with Andrea too. That’d leave Eva on her own, but Nikita knows Eva. She could take all of them, wipe the floor with them, and not even break a sweat.

Why is this so complicated?

“Do you think I should leave?”

Andrea’s voice is small. It makes Nikita’s blood boil. “No, of course not.”

“But it’s wrecking everything.” The other girl sighs, again. “I didn’t mean to break it.”

“You didn’t break anything,” Nikita says, and Andrea gives her a dirty look for the lie. “You know what I mean. We’re all new to this. The group is in a state of flux. You might’ve bent it a bit, but it ain’t broke. Now listen, you just need to talk to Eva.”

“If I tried to talk to her one on one I’m pretty sure she’d murder me,” Andrea says dryly.

“Oh, absolutely. She’d kick your ass.” Nikita frowns. “But you two have something major in common. Tyler. You both love him, you wanna protect him.”

“You think I should go through him?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “no, don’t do that, she’ll feel like you’ve flipped him against her. Look. When she and I were fighting, it took us forever to understand why we were so upset with each other. She was pissed I hurt Tyler, and I was pissed she didn’t trust me or Matt when we hadn’t done anything to her. The two don’t coincide, y’know? Like they  _ seem _ like they do, but they don’t.”

Andrea’s brow furrows even deeper. “I don’t think I’m following.”

“Sis is like a river,” she tells her. “Nothing beats a river,  _ ever. _ River carves out rock, it dictates where folks decide settle down, we use it as a guide when we’re lost. People try to harness it for power and they can keep it dammed for a while but dams fail, and even then you couldn’t stop a river from flowing.”

“That’s deep as hell but I still don’t get it.”

Nikita rolls her eyes. “You can’t fight Eva, D.”

“So what do I do?”

“Roll over. Show her you trust her. Or need her. That activates her Mom Mode.” Nikita gets up, taking her cereal bowl to the sink. “She won’t do a goddamn thing until you show her you can be trusted. It means you gotta do most of the work, but it also means that once you’re in her pride, nothing you do is gonna change that.”

_ I hope. _ She doubts that supporting Andrea like this means she’s lost Eva as a friend. Honestly, Nikita doesn’t think Eva’s all that unforgiving of Andrea either. She thinks mostly that Andrea poses a danger, in Eva’s eyes—she did, after all, set the precedent Eva has of being wary with new folks. Eva’s got some trust issues. But if she and Nikita can find common enough ground to push past trust issues and become genuine friends, Nikita  _ knows _ the same can be said for Andrea. Andrea’s funny. She’s sassy and a bit self deprecating in the way Matt can be sometimes. She’s a pretty good cook and has a decent singing voice and no one else knows this because in the group she’s so timid and quiet.

Andrea pokes at her toast, frowning deeply. A knock on the door saves her from replying.

“I got it,” Nikita says, brushing past her to open it. She raises an eyebrow at Matt when he comes into view. “Damn, dude, you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” he deadpans as she lets him in.

This is where she’d make some witty, scathing joke that Matt would return with a pun or something, but Nikita frowns as he passes, because he really does look terrible. They’ve all noticed it, how his shoulders seem perpetually tense, his hair more stressed than usual from running his hands through it, how the bags beneath his eyes seem to be getting deeper and deeper. He doesn’t just look tired, he looks like he’s been hit by a train. Like, twice.

She catches his wrist, startling him, since he’s the touchy one in this relationship. Pitching her voice low, she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Let me rephrase that,” she says, shaking him a bit. “What’s wrong with you?”

He tips his head. “Nothing. Why?”

“Because, I repeat, you look like  _ shit.” _ Actually, he looks like the few times he’d paced in front of the Lazarus box, trying to figure out its secrets when they had nothing to go on, back in Everlock. He looks frustrated, exhausted, hopeless. “This is more than just a newborn at home, Matt. What’s going on?”

“I…” And for one long, absurd second, he looks like he’s going to tell her. His brown eyes are wide as they gaze back at her. She feels like he can pierce right through her with those eyes. Matt’s smarts are really intimidating sometimes, but he never makes her feel stupid with them. He can be so conscious of other people sometimes, what they need, how to navigate them. How to make things make sense. Nikita envies that.

The moment’s over. He closes his mouth, shaking his head. “Some theories are giving me trouble,” he says. “That’s all. It’s not even important.”

This time when he pulls away, she lets him, brow furrowing as a lightning fast flash of hurt rips through her. He doesn’t owe her an explanation by any means, of course, but she can’t help but feel like he’s shutting her out. How the fuck is she supposed to help him if he won’t even talk to her?

“Should’ve stayed in Everlock,” she grumbles under her breath, following him into the kitchen where Andrea has successfully eaten half of her toast.

“How ya feeling, mindreader?” he teases, sitting backwards in the chair and setting down his backpack next to him.

Andrea rolls her eyes. “I can’t actually read your mind, Matt.”

“Well, that’s what we’re gonna find out today.” He surveys her slumped posture. “You up for this?”

She points the remainder of her toast in his direction. “Are  _ you?” _

“Touché,” he allows. “Nikita, you wanna stay?”

“Nah, I have a thing at Ulta with Gabby,” Nikita says, crinkling her nose. “My manager wants me to get back into sponsorships, so.”

He pauses. “Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah?” She sighs. “I don’t know, actually. It’s been like four months but to be honest it’s getting kinda hard to like…  _ care _ about that sort of thing anymore.”

Andrea perks up, probably getting the cacophony of emotions Nikita’s currently cycling through. She straightens, giving her friends a forced smile. “It’s fine,” she tells them. “I’ll see y’all later, okay?”

She turns on a heel, refusing to acknowledge the concern on Matt’s face or the confusion on Andrea’s.

To be completely honest, she isn’t quite sure what to make of it, either.

- 

“Earth to Nikita.”

Nikita blinks. Gabriel’s arching one of his stenciled-on eyebrows at her. “What?”

“You’ve been staring at your soda like it holds the secrets of the universe,” he informs her with a smirk. “And since when do you like Diet Coke, anyway?”

She rolls the cup between her hands, feeling the condensation coat her palms. They’re at McDonald’s, came here after their event at Ulta. Nikita’s the one who suggested it, since she hasn’t seen Gabby in weeks. He’d been ecstatic at the invitation, but Nikita’s getting the feeling this isn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

Gabby is still looking at her, lowering his chin so he can try to catch her eyes. “What’s going on, sweetie?”

Nikita closes her eyes. “Do you ever miss Manny?”

“Every day,” he says immediately, without thinking.

“Why?”

“Because—” Gabby stops, frowns as he thinks about it. “Because he’s funny, and he has this really big heart, and his eyeliner is always flawless. Why?”

Nikita shrugs, miserably thumbing the logo on the cup. “Gabby, why are you still my friend?”

When she looks up at him, she sees the alarm on his face. He reaches across the table and takes one of her hands. “Because I love you, girl,” he says, brown eyes wide and serious. He didn’t wear the green contacts he’s so famous for today—hasn’t for a while now, Nikita’s been wondering about that—so she isn’t quite used to not being able to see his pupils.

She gnaws on her glossed lower lip. “Even now? Even after I’m… different? Even if I stop doing makeup, stop Youtube, stop being everything you know me as?”

Understanding dawns on him and he sits back a little. “Nikita,” he says, “I waited a month for you to come back. And then I waited another month for you to start talking to me again. You’ve been different since the day you came back, and I still love every inch of you, regardless of who you are now. That’s how it works.”

Nikita’s face crumples. “Bitch, if you make me cry—”

He laughs, squeezing her hand. “Listen, babe, if you need more time to figure out who you are now, just tell us. We’re patient, we can wait. And if you decide you don’t wanna be a beauty guru anymore, that’s cool too. If you want me, I’m here for you. Forever. Okay?”

She doesn’t trust herself not to immediately burst into tears, so she manages a tiny nod instead. Gabriel smiles at her, squeezing one last time before releasing her and turning back to his fries.

Nikita takes another sip of Diet Coke. Caring about other people is exhausting. She’s about to ask Gabby what else he’s been up to, when a familiar voice calls, “Nikita!”

It’s Eva. Nikita blinks in surprise as the older girl slides into the booth next to her. Gabriel leans back, arching both brows.

“Eva Gutowski, as I live and breathe,” he exclaims.

Eva glances at him, before giving one of her diplomatic smiles. “You’re Gabriel Zamora, right? You’re like  _ the _ Ipsy stylist.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Gabby says, but Nikita can hear the surprised pleasure in his voice at being recognized. “I didn’t realize you knew Nikita.”

“All the survivors know each other,” Eva responds, dryly, and Gabby’s mouth pops open as he makes the connection.

“Ah. Right. Well, I guess I should be going?” He shoots Nikita a look, as if to ask if she wants him to stay, and she shakes her head.

“I’ll text you later, honey,” she tells him, and he smiles, taking his tray to the garbage can before slipping out the door.

Maybe he’s changed, too, she thinks to herself, before turning to attention to Eva. “Funny seeing you around here,” she notes.

“I’d say the same to you,” Eva says, snagging her cup so she could drink out of it, “but I saw you tweeting that you were doing that thing with Ulta.”

Nikita makes a face. “They wanted me to do a video around their new eyeshadow palette. Manny was… Manny had been working on it, but never finished, so they did it in his name. Wanted me, Gabby, and Laura there to help promote it.” Except Laura hadn’t shown up. Nikita doesn’t know what’s been going on with her, which makes her feel a little guilty considering. She should really be keeping up with her friends, rather than being caught up in other things, like—

“Are you coming to the cemetery next Sunday?”

She flinches. “Do I have to?”

Eva doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “No,” she concedes finally, “but I think it’d be good for you. You obviously miss Manny.”

_ I’m sure he misses me, too, _ she thinks sourly. “I can’t. I can’t face any of them.”

“None of them?”

_ Roi, my fault. Teala, my fault. Colleen, my fault. Even Ro’s my fault. And Manny? _ Out loud she says, “There are things Matt and I haven’t told you about what happened in Everlock. Things you don’t want to know.” She glances sideways at her. “I can’t do it, Eva. Not yet.”

They call a number and Eva’s head jerks up. She gives Nikita a look that says  _ we’re not done _ before getting up to grab her food. Nikita sits back, rubbing the bridge of her nose the best she can without messing up her contouring. This day hasn’t been going fantastically, and she’s starting to wonder if she’s depressed. It’s hard to care about anything anymore, and between the stress of trying to serve as a buffer between Andrea and Eva and worrying about Matt and how she’s supposed to properly be a Person, a good chunk of her wants to just quit. Never get out of bed again, just lie there until she finally withers away into dust.

That’s dark, Nikita, she tells herself, but it’s also true, and she doesn’t know how to fix it.

Eva slides into the seat opposite of her, carrying her tray. She points a fry at her. “Listen, we all got secrets, but the whole point of group is to trust us enough with those secrets so that you aren’t fucked up trying to carry them by yourself.”

Nikita snorts. “That’s rich, you telling me to trust?”

Her eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

_ Shit. _ This was not her intention. Nikita purses her lips. “Eva, you need to talk to Andrea.”

Eva’s voice frosts over. “No, I really don’t.”

“Yes you do. I can’t handle this back and forth, I’m sick of the dirty looks, I’m sick of Andrea freaking out on me because she doesn’t know how to navigate you or what she can possibly do to win your trust—”

“Nothing,” Eva snaps. “There’s nothing she can do, because I  _ don’t _ trust her, and you’ll be thanking me the next time she disappears and leaves us all in the dust because  _ I’ll _ have been prepared while the rest of you were blinded by cheap tactics and  _ Lady Gaga!” _

Nikita feels her face get hot. “First of all, Lady Gaga was my idea.”

_ “Why?” _

“Because I live with the girl, Eva,” she says, exasperated. “I’ve heard her cry because she has nightmares, I can’t get her to eat, I help her build her mental shields up so she doesn’t hurt me with her hurt, because she’s  _ afraid _ of hurting me, a total stranger! She’s not bad, Eva, she’s a person and she fucked up and she’s paying for it, and she’s learning from it, and she’s  _ trying, _ why won’t you let her?”

Eva stares at her in shock as she gets up, clutching her Diet Coke to her chest and marching out, feeling like smoke might come out of her ears if she got any angrier.

And it would’ve been a flawless, dramatic exit, too, if she hadn’t forgotten that Gabby had driven her here, and she hadn’t thought ahead to order an Uber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a filler chapter, I apologize, but we're between arcs atm so it's gonna be slow lolllllll
> 
> I like Gabriel, actually, and I know he and Nikita still hang out so I felt it was cool to include him as one of the few things of Nikita's past she still has :)
> 
> Up next: Oli and Eva talk about boundaries, and Oli has an idea to fix everything.


	14. 13. Oli - establishing boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> establishing boundaries: exactly what it says on the tin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings, unless you count this being very, very short :/

_Oli_

The cup warms Oli’s palms in a way that combats the mid-autumn wind clinging to everyone lately, but he doesn’t seem to notice, lines creasing deeper across his brow as he stares into the rising steam like it has secrets to impart upon him.

Myling clicks her tongue and says something in rueful Tagalog before making her way to his table. He sees her coming out of his peripheral, but doesn’t react when she slides into the chair opposite of him. He doesn’t have to look at her face to sense her disapproval.

“I would be hurt that you haven’t tried your drink if I didn’t know any better,” she tells him, accent curling the words. It’s a comfort, to be honest, amongst the thousands of American accents he’s surrounded by every day. Oli’s been here about a month now and he isn’t quite as homesick as he used to be, but he has to admit that more often than not he feels like an outsider among his friends.

He weaves his fingers to grasp the handle of the mug, the only indication he’d heard her, but then his politeness catches up to him and he lifts his gaze to meet hers. Licking his lips—because honestly, what does one say to that?—he says, “And what’s in this one then?”

“Something you may like,” she returns in an awfully noncommittal manner, “and something you may not. You won’t know until you try it.”

Oli huffs a laugh. “Why do you only do this with me?”

“Because you let me.” Oli hums in agreement, because that sounds like a lead in if he’s ever heard one, but he isn’t quite sure where to start. Thankfully, it’s late—almost closing time, in fact, and he’s been here a few hours, after a rather disastrous session of driver’s ed (his teacher is unerringly patient with him and somehow that makes it worse), only really stirring when he realized that he was cold, and should eat something, and maybe go home before Tyler starts to worry. Myling had only come in to close, about twenty minutes ago, and when she’d spotted him sitting in the corner she had made some concoction he couldn’t hope to guess by the smell of it and put it in his hands.

“It’s decaf,” she points out helpfully as he peers at the mug again. “Drink it before it gets cold. Or don’t. It’s up to you.”

Oli grimaces, tries not to roll his eyes because that would be disrespectful, and puts it to his lips. The flavor is  _ very _ sweet, he already knows Tyler would hate it—his roommate never really had a sweet tooth but after his slaughtering he wouldn’t touch confections of any kind for months, and to this day still won’t touch cake or candy. Honey spreads on his tongue along with something floral and creamy. Lavender, maybe? It isn’t a flavor he’s used to, and his brows shoot up.

Myling matches the expression, though she has a smile threatening to pull at her lips. “Well?”

“This one might be my favorite,” he admits, surprised to find that he means it. All of Myling’s experiments have been good, but this one speaks to him in a way he can’t explain. The honey and taste of flowers reminds him of teatime back home—they don’t  _ have _ teatime here and that’s just purely blasphemous if he’s being honest—and it’s warm, and it’s sweet but he doesn’t mind it.

“Then this will be your drink.” Myling nods once to seal it, and then says, “Now, are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”

He throws her a startled glance, and this time she’s the one to roll her eyes. “You’re here alone,  _ baget, _ and today is Wednesday, not Sunday.”

Ah. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that Oli, who isn’t one for coffee really, would only come here alone because he associates it with group therapy, and sorting things out in his head. Still, Myling is more perceptive than he could’ve guessed.

She waits patiently for him to speak, and he takes another sip of coffee, inhaling its rather neutral scent before giving in. “Myling,” he says, drawing the name out as if to stall, “have you ever been in love?”

“Oh yes,” she answers, a smile tugging at her lips, “many times.”

“Many times?”

She hums, confirming it. “My father used to tell me I have an abundance of love to give. A bad thing, he would say, but I never minded. There were plenty of men, and some women as well,” she adds with a wink. “I spent most of my teen years in San Francisco, you know.”

Actually, Oli doesn’t know, but he’s warmed by the thought of her trusting him with this. “Did you ever meet  _ the one?” _

“Of course not. There is no  _ one, _ boy.” She glances at the watch on her wrist, nods in satisfaction, and turns her attention back to him. “Love has many different flavors, Oli, but no one is more than the other.”

Oli’s heart sinks a little bit. “Then how am I supposed to know—”

“You love her, don’t you?”

He jerks in surprise. “How did you—”

“Oli,” she says, disapproval coating her words, “I’m old, not blind. All you’ve ever done is love that girl.”

“Then…” He wilts, a little, at the thought. “Then how am I supposed to know if this is it? If I’m only ever going to love her, if you said that love happens again and again and each time is going to feel this way?”

“You can’t be so focused on the dangers the future holds, Oli,” she tells him, not unkindly. “What you know now is that you love Eva. That’s all you need to know.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

She huffs. “The truth rarely does.”

Oli thinks about it. He doesn’t even know, really, why he brought it up in the first place. He and Eva are doing well, considering, though she’s been upset about Andrea and he doesn’t know how to help her. But… he’s been too afraid to kiss her properly, unsure of where she stands on that, or how to progress, or even if it’s time to progress? This relationship is different than any he’s ever had. Oli’s kissed girls before, he’s even thought he loved them—he  _ did, _ he did love them, sometimes he still does, but it’s different now, and it’s especially different because it’s  _ Eva, _ his partner, the one he trusts above everyone else.

Myling studies him as he sips more coffee. “What else is wrong?”

“I just don’t know where to go from here,” he mutters into the cup. “Tyler is wrapped up in Andrea, so’s Eva, Matt looks exhausted and none of us can reach him, Nikita and I are caught between wanting to help Andrea to keep the group together and wanting to support Eva even though she hates her. And on top of that, next week’s group is cancelled so we can go to the cemetery instead, but I… just really feel like I need therapy,” he finishes on a laugh, because this is really kind of ridiculous anyway, group isn’t exactly therapy no matter how it might mimic it, and Oli’s been confused about a lot of things for a while now.

A hand appears on his, pushing gently until he sets the mug down on the table. Oli meets Myling’s dark brown eyes, aged with time and, through that, wisdom. It’s so odd how much she reminds him of someone’s grandmother. Not  _ like _ his own grandparents, but like she’s his anyway, and it’s always been that way.

“You,” she says, tipping her head, “overflow with an abundance of love to give.”

Funny. When she says it, it doesn’t sound like it’s a bad thing.

“I have watched you, Oli,” she continues, squeezing his hand. “I’ve seen you with Eva, with my boy Tyler. I’ve seen you ease Nikita into a state of trust, and let Matt tease you. I even saw how Andrea seems to instinctually trust you. I watch, and observe, and you are the kindest of your friends, and that can be a very lonely existence.”

He blinks, surprised at that turn. “I thought you said—”

“It is noble to love as deeply as you do,” she informs him, in a roundabout way of answering. “It only means others are slow to reciprocate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You want everyone to be happy, yes?”

“Of course,” he says immediately.

“And everyone is not happy.”

_ Oh.  _ “Oh,” he says aloud. “And… nothing I do can really change that, is what you’re saying?”

She nods. “Your love and kindness can be an infinite resource, but it will only go as deep as others will let it. And that can be frustrating, and tiring, and lonely.”

Oli’s shoulders hunch a bit, like he’s trying to wrap himself around the warmth the mug provides. “Then what am I supposed to do? Give up?”

“Of course not,” she says with a click of her tongue. “It’s not in your nature. You provide the light that guides them home, Oli. You keep them grounded. You give them a place to come back to.”

And just like every other time someone gives him an unexpected compliment, Oli flushes right up to his ears. Myling laughs, patting his cheek with her free hand. “We close in five,” she tells him as she stands again. “Drink your coffee. It’s on me tonight.”

_ “Salamat po,”  _ he tells her, pronouncing it perfectly (he’s been practicing), and she raises a brow at him.

“Are you calling me old, _ baget?” _

“Never,” he declares, with a lopsided grin, and she tsks, making her way back to the counter to help close.

Oli drinks his coffee, smiling as an idea begins to form.

 -

_ “I’ve been thinking.” _

Oli can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Wow, don’t hurt yourself.”

_ “Shut up, I’m being serious,” _ Eva returns, but he can hear the smile in her voice.  _ “I’ve been thinking about Andrea, and Tyler.” _

The admission causes him to blink in surprise and sit up from his lounging position on his bed, the google search on his laptop in front of him forgotten as he tucks the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Eva sighs over the line.  _ “Yeah. I think I’m too tired to be angry anymore. I just… I think I’m hurt? Is that weird?” _

“Of course not,” is his automatic reaction, and after he thinks about it he nods once to confirm it.

_ “I didn’t know her, though, so it’s not like her leaving hurt  _ me. _ It’s just…” _ She trails off, sounding more distressed than he’s ever known her to be. Eva can get frazzled, but she doesn’t usually sound like  _ this. _ Like she doesn’t know how to process this, or where to go from here.

Cautiously, he prods, “You and me supported Tyler through it, though.”

_ “Yeah, but you don’t have an issue with her.” _

“I take people at face value.”

_ “And that’s incredibly charming and endearing of you, Oli, but that’s not  _ me.” A bit of her anger is leaking through her words, and Oli suppresses the urge to sigh. It must be exhausting, being that angry all the time.

_ “I’m the one who would hold Tyler during his breakdowns,” _ she continues, that edge ever-present in her voice,  _ “I’m the one who helped build him up again, and I think… I think I’m hurt because it feels like he threw all of that away? All of the work I did to fix him, he just… tosses out the window the second she’s back? It’s  _ stupid, _ it’s  _ not fair.”

“So you don’t think it’s her being untrustworthy, then,” Oli sums up. “You’re more upset with Tyler than you are with her.”

Surprised silence follows. Oli frowns. Isn’t that what she’d said? But after a long, long moment, her voice breaks when she says,  _ “Yeah.” _

Sympathy floods him, and Oli purses his lips before changing the subject, knowing they’ll have to come back to that eventually. “Eva, can I ask you something?”

_ “Always.” _

“Where are we going?”

Silence drops again, this one more cautious. He can almost hear her emotional walls going up and has to bite his tongue to resist the urge to comfort her, console, confirm that he isn’t planning on going anywhere.

_ “You mean with—” _

“Us, yes,” he says, “where are we going? What is okay? I… I want to know where the line is. I want you to feel safe with me.”

_ “Oh, Oli,” _ she breathes,  _ “you have no idea.” _ And he isn’t quite sure what to make of that, but she doesn’t let him linger on it.  _ “You want to establish boundaries?” _

He thinks about it. Yes, that sounds accurate. “I have a hard time saying no to people,” he confesses, even though it’s no big secret. He and Tyler both are lightweight pushovers. Sometimes, especially as a child, it had gotten him into a lot of trouble. “Boundaries are hard. I just want to know where we stand, when it’s okay to move those, or if it isn’t, ever. I just want to know so I can take care of you.”

Eva makes an odd noise, something trapped between a whine and a gasp. He hunches, afraid he’s messed this up too, but instead she says,  _ “I’d like that.” _

And so, as they tell each other what is and isn’t okay, Oli understands why everyone says communication is the key to relationships. He knows most of her triggers, of course, having been there for a lot of them and helping her out through the rest, but being told, confirming what he knows and learning about the ones he doesn’t, builds a kind of trust he hadn’t known they needed. He thought he knew his partner inside and out, but this is an entirely different side to her—meek, and cautious, and embarrassed even though she doesn’t have to be. Maybe more than all of that, he loves that she trusts him with all of this. Maybe a lot of love is just trust. The potential danger this person has when you give them this information that can hurt you and knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that they won’t.

It’s late, and Oli hears Tyler climbing the stairs to go to bed, so he says, “Hey Eva, one last thing, before you go.”

_ “Yeah?” _ She sounds better now, happier, like a weight’s been lifted from her shoulders.

“Have you ever been camping?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is short on purpose as we go into the next arc, so I apologize for that but also promise that things will be heating up in the next few chapters as we kick off camping, ETN Survivor Style!
> 
> Up next: Andrea and Tyler do a video together and learn that forgiveness is an ongoing thing.


	15. 14. Andrea - radical acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> radical acceptance: accepting life on life’s terms and not resisting what you cannot or choose not to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings aside from sappiness? and it's real short, again, I'll explain in the end notes, enjoy!

_Andrea_  

_ You’re brooding again. _

Andrea flinches, and then sighs as she turns to Tyler, the blonde man eyeing her with a small smile. “I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” she informs him.

She doesn’t entirely mean it, and he knows it. He puts his hands on his hips. “I feel entitled to the privilege of being the only one allowed inside your psychic walls, actually, and so I’m gonna exercise that right whenever I feel like you’re doing a particularly impressive impersonation of Batman.”

A slow smile curves on her lips, just ‘cause she can’t help it. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“As you damn well should.” He drops his arms, and his humor. “What’s going on?”

“I just…” She bites her lip, looking around his living room. Everything is set up to make a video, in his usual way. The lights are on and the camera is positioned. The room is bathed in the pale glow of the dreary mid-October day. There’s just one thing that’s new about it. Herself.

“I just don’t think this is the best idea,” she finishes, sounding more anxious than she’d intended.

He softens when he realizes exactly what she’s saying. Andrea’s been marveling lately, now that she’s fully embraced the whole psychic thing instead of just shoving it down and pretending it didn’t exist, at how well people could read each other without the use of words. She can feel the waves of sympathy and understanding wafting off of Tyler like it’s painting the air in different colors. It’s so much different than how it was a year ago, when she’d been terrified and couldn’t control it. Matt and Nikita have been helping her categorize and understand what she’s seeing and feeling and hearing, and because of it she knows Tyler’s signature like the back of her hand. Tyler especially. Everyone else too—with the exception of Matt, which is curious and mildly alarming—each of the survivors have unique auras different from the rest of the population. Tyler’s is just the strongest.

And right now it tastes like fog on her tongue. Even the comfort of being near her survival partner doesn’t quite quell the fear curling in her gut. “Tyler, I’m not  _ good, _ ” she says, voice low. “People hate me right now. Showing any kind of support… this could ruin you.”

“Andrea,” he says in the same tone, “I don’t care.” Then he grins, his crooked, one-sided, dimpled smirk that seems to light all the dark corners of the world, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. “And I doubt that, anyway, I’m beloved by millions.”

It’s infectious, which is exactly his intention. Andrea smiles back. “You’re a dork.”

“A dork who’s beloved by millions.” Tyler sits on the floor and pats the space next to him. “Now come on, we’re gonna work this out before we film, ‘cause I know there’s more to it than just worrying about lil’ ol’ me.”

Andrea sighs, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him. It’s been almost two weeks since she’d been “exposed.” Her and Sarah’s outing had been the worst of it, but it wasn’t the only thing the Psychic Twins accused her of. A lot of what they said were flat lies, not that anyone would believe her if she tried to defend herself. Tyler’s idea to do a video back, a collaboration with him to show he still believes and supports her, seems like a solid first step in re-establishing her social media presence. Especially since she hasn’t even looked at the backlash since the first day. But she still gets calls from mainstream news sites looking for an interview, and when she’s recognized outside in the real world, it’s usually to the disgust of the other person.

She’s used to that. Eva still avoids her like the plague, and any time they do run into each other—which has been more often than Andrea would’ve expected considering it’s only been a couple of weeks, but Eva’s dating Oli, and is Tyler’s best friend, and good friends with Nikita, and it’s hard to avoid the other girl these days—her disdain and distrust is loud enough to blind Andrea whenever she gets anywhere near her, psychic shields or not.

In any case, it’s what she expected. And every second she spends with Tyler that isn’t charged with hurt or betrayal is one she takes with baited breath, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. She doesn’t deserve any of it, and she doesn’t understand why he’s giving it to her. A lot of her wants to ask, but she doesn’t dare. That’s not a normal question. And she’s afraid of the answer.

Tyler’s voice rings through her head, clear as if he’d spoken aloud.  _ I am the night, _ he cackles,  _ I. Am. Batman. _

Andrea rolls her eyes. “I was just thinking,” she murmurs.

“I can see that, sister,” he says, poking her shoulder. “Come on. You said you were gonna let me in. I kinda feel at a disadvantage here.”

She looks at him. Like,  _ really _ looks, takes in his dark blue eyes behind his glasses, his blonde, combed hair, blue plaid button up, the crookedness of his signature grin. He’s different than the Tyler she used to know, but to be fair that month after their return was absolute hell. He’d felt like a desolated battlefield that held nothing but grief and sorrow and hopelessness and now… now he feels like hope in the form of pure, clean oxygen. Light, and kindness, and a quiet kind of strength she never knew he had.

And some of the tension leaves her shoulders as she looks at him, thinking, not for the first time, that she’s way too fond of him, and no wonder Eva fought so goddamn hard to protect him from her, because Andrea feels the same exact way. Nothing should touch this boy, ever.

But she’d been the one to break him, and Eva and Oli had put him back together, and he’s this now. A lot stronger. A lot happier. Her being anywhere near him could undo all of that, and instead of heeding that threat he let her back in. And he’s looking at her with the same fondness she feels for him, and that isn’t  _ right. _

“Andrea?” he prods again, the smile fading just a little bit, and she realizes all of a sudden that tears are welling in her eyes.

“God, sorry,” she chokes out, wiping them away with the heel of her palm. “I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but crying for weeks.”

“You got a lotta hurt stacked up,” he says gently. “There’s nothing wrong with letting it go, you know.”

_ It feels wrong. _ She doesn’t say it, too afraid that speaking it makes it real. “Is it dumb that I miss Sarah?” she asks instead.

“Of course not.”

“‘Cause like, I  _ miss _ her.” Her throat gets tight thinking about her ex. God, they’re exes now, and she’s never going to see her again, and she hopes to God that her parents didn’t get a hold of her, and that she’s safe. “I miss not being afraid to talk about the shit I’m feeling, and I miss not being strong and having that be okay, and logically, logically I know you’re safe and you’d give those things to me if I asked, Tyler, I  _ know, _ I know because you’re you and I—think? I think you’ve forgiven me? Which would be fine because I asked for it but to be completely honest with you I don’t  _ deserve it _ and so all of this feels like a lie! Or a trap.”

Oh, she didn’t know any of this. It’s all spilling out now, and Tyler looks utterly shocked across from her, the ultimate cue to shut the fuck up right now before she says something that causes irreparable damage, but she  _ can’t stop. _ “And so I’m constantly stuck here terrified you’re going to change your mind, or that all of this has been some sick joke, and when I don’t feel like that, I feel instead like I should leave because it’s only a matter of time before I fuck up or you get sick of me or something goes horribly, terribly wrong, and then I remember that leaving is what fucked everything up in the  _ first place, _ and I—”

Tyler grabs her face in both hands. The whirlwind of emotions suddenly comes to a violent standstill, leaving her breathless, tears spilling down her cheeks as she stares wide-eyed at his uncharacteristically serious face.

He releases her, gently, once he’s sure he’s knocked her out of her spiral. “Sorry for touching,” he says, apology in his voice and in the air. “I know that kinda amplifies the psychic thing, but you needed to breathe.”

At the reminder she pulls in a slow breath, and her nerves settle, just a little, the thoughts a lot quieter now. “I’m sorry,” she says again.

“I know you are,” Tyler tells her, patting her knee. “I’m sorry too. I don’t know how to fix this, like, at all.” He frowns. “But… you’re right, I have forgiven you. You know that, right?”

“Sometimes.” She runs her hands through her dark hair. “But… how do you  _ know?” _

He shrugs. “I just do.”

“That doesn’t help me, like, at  _ all.” _

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Andrea stares at her hands in her lap. “The problem is me,” she admits, finally, after a moment. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just… don’t think I deserve it. I can’t accept it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I  _ hate _ myself,” she whispers, catching on the dangerous word. “I hate what I did. I hate who I am. I hate this.”

Tyler reaches over, very slow to give her a chance to pull away. When she doesn’t, he takes the hands in her lap, and with the contact she’s flooded with a tangle of emotions she can’t possibly hope to pinpoint. She catches things like sadness and love, two very distinct flavors, and something that feels like longing but isn’t quite. When she looks up at Tyler, he’s the most solemn she’s ever seen him, like the force of his love itself could flip everything on a dime if he just loved hard enough.

“I don’t,” he tells her.

Her emotional walls crumble in the face of that.  _ “Why?” _ If it comes out desperate, well, she can’t be blamed for it. She doesn’t understand.

Tyler shakes his head. “Love doesn’t have a  _ why, _ Andrea. It just is. You can try to reconcile that but whether you accept my love or not it’s there for you, and it always will be, because I choose to give it.” He grins. “Because it’s easy. And it’s true. And I love you. And love makes a lot of things seem really, really small. Like the universe. And the things we did to hurt each other. Not just after the slaughtering. During it, too.

“It’s a lot easier to forgive others than it is to forgive yourself, I know. It’s not an excuse of behavior that hurt you. It’s not even really for the state of mind of the other person. Forgiveness is for you. It’s permission to move on. It’s allowing yourself to heal from the things that hurt you. And it’s an ongoing process, and it’s a choice, and it’s not easy at all, but forgiveness from me isn’t the problem.” He squeezes her hands. “You’re right about being stuck on forgiveness, but it isn’t mine you’re looking for. It isn’t even Eva’s. It’s yours. You don’t think you deserve my forgiveness because you haven’t forgiven yourself yet. And because of that, you aren’t allowing yourself to heal.”

Deep down, she knew that. She even recognizes that she used the anger and distrust in Eva to justify it. To confirm what she already believed about herself. And it’s wild to acknowledge now, because she also needed to be forgiven, and have her friends back, and try to start rebuilding her life. She’d thought that if she had Tyler back, she would finally be able to start healing. But it wasn’t Tyler’s forgiveness and friendship that she needed. It’s not what she needs now.

“But listen.” He catches her gaze and holds it. “This is gonna sound like some of meditation mumbo jumbo bullshit, but I’ve learned some things these past couple of months, and these past weeks in particular. Life throws a whole lot of shit at us and a lot of it is out of our control. But we choose to allow what hurts us hurt us. We choose how it affects us. You and I survived a massacre and we both made choices in order to survive. Those are the facts. And from there, we can either let that hurt us for the rest of our lives, or we can accept it, and let it remain in the past where it belongs. It happened, and it’s done, and we are different now. And we apply that principle to all the shit we go through. And in the meantime, you got me. And the others. And Eva, eventually, when she figures it out herself. Okay?”

Andrea just nods. She doesn’t quite know how to respond to that. But she does know… “You’ve changed,” she observes, squeezing his hands back. “A lot. I’m proud of you.”

He laughs. “Well, I’ve been in therapy. And also kind of running it, too. Although, holy shit.” A stunned look crosses his face. “I think I just totally figured out Radical Acceptance.” And his crooked grin is back as he crows,  _ “Suck _ it, Dr. Thompson!”

Andrea laughs, too, still crying, and still not quite all there yet, but at least knowing where she needs to go, and how she needs to get there. She pulls one hand from Tyler’s grasp to lay it on his cheek. “Thank you,” she says, trying to pour back to him what she can feel him giving her. She wishes she wasn’t the only psychic among the group, but if the wave of fondness he sends back is any indication, he receives her message.

“Does this mean you’re coming camping with us next week?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“Oh god,” she groans, releasing him to wipe her face, “three days cooped up with Eva in a tent, I’m sure that’ll go over  _ real _ well.”

“It’ll be fun,” he needles, almost whining. “Oli’s found a great spot, and I looked up weather reports, it’s not supposed to get real cold till like, mid-November, it’s gonna be amazing.”

Andrea rolls her eyes. “Scary stories around a campfire, huh?”

“And s’mores,” he reminds her. “And, I dunno, like, stargazing and stuff. Campfire songs.”

“I’m not singing again.”

“Why  _ not?” _

She smiles slightly. “How about we see how Sunday goes, and go from there?”

Full blown, big, unhappy Tyler pout. “Yeah, okay.” He sobers a bit, tilting his head at her. “Do you still wanna do the video?”

“Yeah.” And she does, is the weird thing. She feels a whole lot lighter, like the pressure in her chest has dissipated. “Let me just go clean up in the bathroom real fast. I’ll be right back.”

She feels his contentment as she navigates the quiet hallway with ease, slipping into the bathroom and facing herself in the mirror. Oof, yeah, she looks like hell. Her eyes are red from crying—she’s  _ so sick _ of crying—and her dark, auburn hair is tangled to shit. Her makeup didn’t run thanks to Nikita’s setting spray Andrea wouldn’t ever have dreamed existed if her roommate hadn’t insisted on giving it to her because “You know you’ll cry, bitch, you always do.” But staring at her face in the mirror, running a hand through her hair, Andrea’s suddenly realizing that Tyler was absolutely right.

There are things in life, too many, way too many things that they can’t control. And things that they can. And so she splashes water on her face, and pats it dry with the paper towels by the sink, and she passes through the kitchen on her way back so she can grab the scissors from the junk drawer she knows Tyler still keeps.

Tyler looks up when she comes back into the living room, his blonde brows rising as she holds up the scissors and says, “I have an idea for the video.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit I crossed 50k on this manuscript whaaaaat
> 
> OOOOOKAY so last weekend I had uhhh the worst episode of vertigo I've ever experienced, I had to go to Urgent Care, I didn't move, eat, drink, SEE anything for five days, it was really really bad so while I am sorry I missed posting, I know it couldn't have been helped.
> 
> second, the next chapter is the last filler chapter before we move into the camping trip arc. it's also the last chapter I'm going to post before I go on a writing break, because I've been feeling the effects of burnout and I get real stressed when I can't post when I should. I'm learning to be a lot kinder to myself and what my body and mind needs, and so I'm going to be taking the month of January off to let my mind rest, to write for other projects, and to take the pressure off of myself. I promise to come back in February and complete the rest of this story. no worries about me going anywhere, I have everything mapped out (and I mean EVERYTHING, including the next two books in the series, and they're doozies, the both of them) and I still love this story a lot despite the stress it's been giving me lately :P
> 
> third, I don't know if you noticed, but I changed the series name from "Survivor's Guilt" to "Endgame" and I wanna say first and foremost that this was a planned change for like a month now and I just kept forgetting to change the name, Avengers beat me to it and yes I'm salty about it. I'm also changing the summaries both of the series and of this book to better suit the theme of the series itself, which is exactly what it says on the tin as I plan to wrap up Escape the Night as a whole (ignoring any season four we might get - I have my own plans, mwuahaha). it's gonna be a long journey, I hope you guys stick with me through it, because it's gonna be fun :)
> 
> Up next: another month, another cemetery outing. Also, Matt learns some things, witholds some things, and ultimately just makes some pretty crummy decisions.


	16. 15. Matt - opposite action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> opposite action: transforming an emotionally negative experience into one that is more likely to bring about a desirable outcome (ie not wanting to do something that is skillful, but doing it anyway)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings, although Matt could use a hug :/

_ Matt _

Matt’s missing something, he can feel it.

His fingers tap on the steering wheel as he peers out into the gray morning mist. This weather is unusual for Southern California, even in mid-fall. Everything is cloaked in fog and rain and he can’t not take that as a sign, not with all he’s learned.

At a stoplight, he takes one hand from the wheel and rubs his eyes.

He’s been slipping and he knows everyone can see it. Some of the livestream videos have comments from concerned viewers asking if he’s okay, if he’s been sleeping, and he knows he owes everyone one hell of an explanation, but he can’t quite find the courage to tell them that  _ hey, I know we’re still recovering from trauma and stuff like that and we all think we’re safe now but actually… _

Actually, they might be a part of some twisted game where the stakes are the fate of the world, a prophecy he doesn’t even have all the pieces to. Everything adds up. The massacres that have repeatedly happened throughout history, telling of no survivors until the first time Joey Graceffa, along with Eva Gutowski and Oli White, came back from the 1920’s. The stories of how a great evil is coming, and they can’t stop it. Andrea developing psychic abilities that go beyond clairvoyance, but in fact dip into every mental aspect of the psyche he can find with an extensive google search, from empathy and aura reading to precognition and telepathy. And there’s how she described the auras of the others, how they have brighter, more distinctive colors than the rest of the human population, like they’re marked with something different.

Everyone but him.

The light turns green. Matt tries to relax the tension in his shoulders.

He wants to be relieved at being left out of this prophecy crap, but his inference as to why sits heavy in his gut. They cheated, to get him here. They brought him back from the dead. Joey’s different, because he’d been offered the chance to come back by the Society, he’d earned (earned?) his right back to life, and wherever he is Matt hopes he’s appreciating it. No, with Matt they yanked him from the afterlife, hand-picked because they didn’t think they could survive without him, and so every death from then on was his fault. Cheated the game and he survived when he wasn’t supposed to.  _ Safiya should be here, _ his heart screams at him. Ro should be here. Or Manny, even. Then whatever is coming could be defeated because the last, seventh survivor will be marked like they’re supposed to be, and Matt wouldn’t be part of this mess anyway, instead of half inside with a foot in the door because circumstances demanded it.

And it’s self deprecation but it’s  _ true _ so who can blame him for this? He didn’t ask to be brought back. Of course he’d been grateful, but if this is the price then what’s the point? Nightmares every night, every night still after months, and the knowledge that he has to tell the others the bad news, that this isn’t nearly over, that worse things are coming, and then rub in their faces that he somehow got left out of it all? And  _ why, _ they’d ask, and he’d have to tell them he’s pretty sure it’s because he’s supposed to be dead, and it sent the universe reeling and unable to recover.

He’s a spanner in the works of what’s supposed to save the planet and it’s not his fault but it’s because of him and somehow that’s worse.

The road quietens and he turns into the cemetery parking lot. He’s early. Really early. But he hadn’t been able to sleep, and going around in circles perusing his theory board was driving him absolutely up the wall. He’d found bits of the so-called prophecy (really, more of a story pieced together by the few people the players of old managed to save—the first surviving players might have been only a couple years ago but the game has always been about saving people, and sometimes they succeed). From what he can understand, an ancient evil being called The Cursed God is trapped somewhere, and his minions have been trying to sacrifice people in order to free him. The Society managed to sucker him into a deal, though: if they play a game each time, bring in players— _ victims— _ to defeat the Cursed God’s minions, they can slow it down. Up until Joey, Eva, and Oli, they’ve been losing.

But even now, Matt knows it’s close. He doesn’t know the exact number of sacrifices the Cursed God needs to return to Earth, but he does know that the ones destined to meet him are his friends. It’s a repeat of the first battle, the one that got the Cursed God banished in the first place, centuries ago. That’s all he knows.

No, there’s one other thing: that there were supposed to be seven. They were lent magic from the seven major leylines, each a different kind. Only one managed to survive the battle, or so the story goes, suckering the Cursed God into a deal, a way to stall, until centuries later they can’t stall any longer and they’re still not ready.

And maybe this lone survivor is the seventh, and Matt was never supposed to be here, or else maybe they’re all doomed because the magic from the seventh leyline has nowhere to go and so when the Cursed God returns, they’re destined to lose. Either way, it isn’t over, and he knows he has to tell them.

He eyes the clock on the dashboard, decides he has maybe an hour to try to sleep before the others get here, and closes his eyes, sighing. They’re going on a camping trip on Wednesday—without him, because now that he knows, more or less, what’s going on he’s trying to focus on work, and the baby, and trying not to fight with his wife, whom he can  _ feel _ is losing patience with him. He’ll tell them when they get back, he promises himself. In the meantime he’ll try to get back in contact with Joey, since he’s a part of this too. Matt might not be one of the seven, but he can still be useful, and this is going to be a rough conversation, he knows, but he has to face his terror of being inadequate, and of this being his fault, and the crushing acknowledgement that he shouldn’t even  _ be _ here, and that they might all die because he is.

He’s already sent several emails to Joey, though he doesn’t expect much of an answer. He’s never gotten one back, these past few months when he periodically checked up on him. Still, Matt can be accused of being the paranoid sort, and he has gone to Joey’s house a couple of times to see if he’s doing okay. Very rarely is the door ever answered, and when it is it’s always Daniel, Joey’s boyfriend, standing there, looking haggard and worn out and combative. “He’s fine,” he’d murmur in a voice that begs—warns—not to be pushed. But that’s always good enough for Matt. He wonders if that missing persons’ report was ever closed, with Joey’s quiet return, or if Daniel’s simply chosen to hide him from a world that’s been so cruel to him these past couple of years.

After another second of thinking about this, Matt shoots off an email to Daniel, too.

Then he settles back, turning the heat on full blast, amused with the action because he’s rarely had to do that in good ol’ SoCal, before remembering that an apocalypse is rapidly approaching and sobering immediately.

He falls asleep too deep too fast, but he can’t be faulted for it. He’s exhausted.

 -

Tapping on the window glass startles him from the beginning throes of his too-familiar nightmare, so even when Matt jerks from sleep, he’s grateful for it. Oli is smiling kindly at him from outside his car. He has two coffee cups in one hand.

Matt climbs out feeling like his limbs weigh a hundred pounds each. “Mornin’,” he manages, voice scratchy and hoarse. He might have been screaming, but he doesn’t remember that.

Oli tilts his head. “You look like shit, mate.”

“Yeah, I know.” Matt accepts the coffee cup offered to him, taking an experimental sniff.

“It’s not Diet Coke,” Oli continues, “but I felt like due to weather circumstances, this might be more appropriate. We’re going to be standing outside for a bit.”

“Yep.” He raises his brows at him. “Did you drive here?”

“Under my supervision,” Tyler hollers from behind him. When Matt goes to look, he waves from the warmth of his own car, one hand mittened.

“Good job, buddy,” Matt says, smiling, because he means it. Oli’s hard not to like, and besides that, Matt’s always been able to appreciate fast learners.

Oli beams back at him and Matt thinks he’s successfully thwarted the questions he knows are coming, but Oli isn’t easily swayed. “How long have you been out here?”

Matt shrugs and goes for a modest, “About an hour,” which is undershooting it by a lot, but Oli doesn’t have to know that. Still, the bigger man seems to frown with his entire body, shoulders hunching forward as he surveys his friend.

“You know you can talk to us, right?” he says, and just like that Matt feels awful. It must show on his face, because Oli leans back again, smiling at him with a kindness Matt doesn’t nearly deserve.

“It’s okay. We’re here when you decide you want to.”

“Thank you,” Matt murmurs. He doesn’t know what else to say.  _ I’m telling them after the trip, _ he reminds himself. He doesn’t want to ruin what looks like a good thing. He won’t do it.

Thankfully, Oli is suitably distracted by Andrea as she pulls up in her car. Matt is relieved by the shift in attention, especially when Andrea climbs out of the car with  _ remarkably _ short hair, cut choppy, her bangs layered not unlike a rocker would in the eighties. It makes her look both younger and older at the same time, and as she grins sheepishly at Matt and Oli she says, “Too much?”

“Not even slightly,” Matt tells her with a smile, while Oli exclaims, “Andrea, you look amazing!”

“I haven’t cut my hair in years,” she laments, but she looks pleased with herself as she closes the door behind her and runs a hand through her short, dark hair. “It’s taking me a hot minute to get used to it, but… I think I like it too.”

“I helped!” Tyler yells from his car, his voice muffled by the windows.

Andrea rolls her eyes. “It was kind of a disaster, I had to visit a real hairdresser afterwards to, ah, fix it.”

Tyler huffs and crosses his arms, a spectacular pout on his lips.

“Tyler, I looked like a chicken, I had to fix it,” she tells him, her voice the auditory version of patting him on the shoulder, responding to some thought or another of her partner’s. Tyler sticks his tongue out at her, but it’s good natured teasing, so Matt isn’t worried.

“I got lost on the way here,” Andrea continues, turning back to the others. “It’s kind of a random place to put a cemetery full of Youtubers, isn’t it?”

Oli shrugs. “We didn’t really have a say in it, to be honest. I think it’s a central point between a lot of the families who were living in LA at the time? Why they all decided to bury them together is beyond me, though.”

“Makes it convenient for us,” Matt comments, and the others nod.

Oli shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from the cold. “Nikita didn’t want to come?” he asks Andrea.

She shakes her head. “I dropped her off at the shooting range on the way here, though, so she’s nearby.”

That catches Matt’s attention. “Shooting range?”

She pauses, possibly sensing his confusion and shock. “Yes?” The word’s drawn out in question. “She says that’s what she does when we have cemetery visits. Says it helps her get her aggression out.”

Well, Matt would believe that, if he didn’t know for a fact that guns freak Nikita the hell out. She’d told him it’s something she and Eva have in common, the inability to hear a gunshot in person or on film and not be immediately transported back to—

He clamps down on it, not wanting Andrea to sense his growing panic and make an educated guess. Obviously she doesn’t know how Nikita had shot Manny, emptied a revolver into his chest, otherwise she’d know how big of a shock this is. But why hadn’t Nikita told Matt?

_ That’s hardly fair. _ It’s not like he’s shared everything with her, too.

Still, it stings, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

Andrea’s watching him, puzzlement etched on her face, but he’s saved from questions as Eva pulls into the parking lot. Tyler gets out of his warm car to greet her now that they’re all here, while Andrea pulls back just a little, inching towards Matt like she thinks that’ll protect her. Eva doesn’t pay her much attention at first, first squeezing Tyler in a bear hug and then allowing Oli to peck her cheek, but when she turns to greet Matt and Andrea she stops and stares.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, she grins. “Andrea,” she says, brows shooting high, “you have a bisexual bob.”

Andrea’s entire face lights up. “I know!” she exclaims. “I can flirt with girls now!”

A slow smile grows on Matt’s face as he watches the two girls chatter in excitement, apparently finally over what had separated them. Warmth explodes in his chest as he takes a step back, nodding once to himself to reiterate that waiting to tell them is the best course of action. It’s taken a couple of weeks but he knows they’re closer now than they’ve ever been. And he hates the idea of shattering the peace they’ve worked so hard to find within each other, and knows that he’ll soon find himself a target of all that rage he  _ knows _ is still present, leftover from their time fighting for their lives, surviving. He’s accepted that.

But he won’t destroy this calm they’ve found now, not yet. They don’t have to know. In the meantime he can try to find hope for them. Yes, if he can find something positive for them to latch onto by the time they get back, it’ll go easier. It’ll give them a reason to fight, instead of giving in immediately, knowing they’re doomed without their seventh.

Actually, lingering a few feet away as the others flock together, Matt acknowledges that he shouldn’t sell his friends so short. They’ve survived the slaughterings, and managed to get over all the connotations that go with surviving when the people you love don’t. They’ve become beautiful, strong, unstoppable human beings. And honestly, though it seems hopeless from a logical perspective, in his heart he knows they can do this. He has faith.

He just wishes he could be a part of that.

 -

Anthony lets them in, smiling at Andrea, the newest addition to their monthly crew, and Matt can tell he wants to ask how many more they’re planning on adding before they’re through.  _ There’s supposed to be seven of us, _ is what he wants to tell him, but it’s just a reminder that he doesn’t belong here, and so he stays silent as they pass through the gates.

The fog is thick and it’s colder than it should be, but there’s no rain despite the umbrella Eva has tucked under her arm. They go in their familiar routine, starting with Shane Dawson’s headstone and ending with Ro’s angel. Matt hangs back, watching Andrea go through the people in her section, holding onto her tears before she reaches Tana’s grave and seems to crumple completely. Tyler steps up, but so does Eva, and while it should’ve been weird and awkward, it just wasn’t.

“You don’t hear them?” Matt asks after she’s gotten a hold of herself and they’ve moved on. He’d been curious to see if she could talk to the dead, but they agreed not to try until they visited the cemetery.

Andrea shakes her head. “I can hear echoes of the others buried here,” she tells him quietly, glancing at him sideways, “but… the Youtubers, I can’t hear  _ any _ of them. It’s like they’re not even here.”

“The caskets are empty,” he points out, because they are—no one’s body is ever recovered, after all. He wonders if they were in the past, stuck there, buried there, hundreds of miles from where they belong. The thought of it makes him ache.

Andrea purses her lips. “So are some of the ones here,” she mentions, gesturing further out. “Some souls linger, and some move on. I don’t have an explanation for it, Matt, I just know that they aren’t here. None of them are.”

And that’s, well, alarming, but he doesn’t let it show, doesn’t let it explode from his chest like he wants to, and she doesn’t react to anything that might’ve slipped from his solid hold on his emotions, so he must’ve been successful in suppressing them.

Statistically, that isn’t possible. It just isn’t. They move on.

It’s easier the second time around. Matt feels both like he’s made strides in the month since he last visited, and like he’s slid a couple feet backwards. He wishes Nikita was here. As usual, he tenses at JC’s headstone, apologizing under his breath as he passes. That guilt is never going to go away, is it?

Andrea lingers, crouching in front of the headstone, touching the grass at its base. The fact that she can’t feel the souls of her fallen friends doesn’t seem to faze her. Matt leaves her be, and Eva at Teala’s (he sends an apology her way as well, because she deserved so much better than she got). He finds himself at Ro’s angel again, far from the others on the other side of the section.

Sue him, he hadn’t wanted to come. He hasn’t wanted to do a lot of things, lately. Sleep, except that’s where his nightmares lie in wait. Stare at ceilings, except he’s had his month of staring, completely absent in mind and body, and it nearly wrecked everyone he ever loved. But he’s tired of typing up theories he doesn’t care about anymore, trying to record them in his closet only to crash and wake himself screaming yet again. He wants to be present for Steph and for Ollie but every waking moment is spent worrying about what he knows is coming but doesn’t have the first clue how to stop.

If he takes a second to think about it, he’d lament how easily he’s accepted magic and prophecy and superpowers into his life now. If he could tell himself this is all horseshit, maybe he’d have an easier time sharing it with the others.

Maybe he’s just scared.

Tyler approaches on his left, leading gently with his hand as he closes it on Matt’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asks, and Matt wants to shake his head, wants to scream, wants to tell him the truth for once because he’s so,  _ so _ tired of lying.

But beyond Tyler is Andrea at Eva’s side, crouched next to her in front of Teala’s beautiful, polished black headstone, and Oli standing halfway between the girls and Tyler, managing to keep an eye on both of them, and miles away Nikita is at a shooting range and he  _ knows _ they need to talk about that. They’re okay, right now, even if he isn’t, and that’s all that matters.

So Matt squares his shoulders and leaves Ro’s angel, and he lies through his teeth, because he’s extraordinarily good at that.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come camping with us?” Tyler asks, and Matt admires his friend’s tenacity and tact, because what he’s really asking is  _ what can we do to help? _

Matt smiles at him to let him know his message was received and appreciated, and he tells him, “No, this is for the best. But have fun.”

He doesn’t say  _ please, _ or  _ this might be the last time you can. _ Tyler seems to hear it anyway, his brows furrowing, knowing  _ something _ is wrong, but Tyler is not the mindreader of the group, and even if he was, Matt isn’t part of the circle that allows his thoughts and emotions to be laid bare on his sleeve. He isn’t part of this, period. He has no special aura, no magic powers. He’s a fluke, and nothing more.

It should be a good thing.

Why doesn’t it feel like a good thing?

Matt turns from Tyler before he spills everything.  _ I’ll tell them when they get back. _ It sounds desperate in his head, but it stays in his head, and that’s all that matters. “I’m gonna head home,” he mutters, choking on the fog, and the truth screaming at him from where it’s locked somewhere deep in his chest.

“All right,” Tyler says, still sounding lost. “Let us know, though, okay?”

He doesn’t say what, but Matt understands. He hurries from the cemetery like leaving his friends behind can leave behind all his responsibilities, too.

He hadn’t wanted to come anyway.

 -

There’s a letter on his doorstep when he returns home. Matt takes it with trepidation, remembering the last time he’d received a mysterious letter, but inside is simply an address, a date, and a short note.

_ I have the answers you seek, _ it says. _ Meet me at this restaurant on Saturday at 3pm, but be discreet. They’ve been watching you. _

_ See you soon, _

_ JG _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W O W I'm sorry, I really have no excuse for not posting last week aside from "I slept through all of Sunday, my bad"
> 
> and with this, I now move into my h(i)l hiatus! you can probably still expect some stories from me, be them in this fandom or another, but for now I'm putting this massive project down and allowing my brain a second to freakin' Breathe. thank you all for being so patient and kind with me as I try to navigate this. I'm in a much better place emotionally, and I can't wait to finish this up for us :D
> 
> we hit some milestones last chapter (officially over halfway through the story, cleared 50k words (holy shit), scored 2000 hits, cleared 300 comments, whoo!) so thanks all for that! in the wake of my starting my hiatus I did want to do something special and host a h(i)l/Endgame q&a! comment below all your questions and predictions, and I will do my best to answer them (without giving TOO much away) in a vlog on my youtube channel now that I have my computer back and can use my editing software lol. keep an eye on my Twitter and Tumblr (@cinderscoria for both) bc that's where I'll post the link to it, hopefully I can get enough questions/comments to make it interesting? I'm not sure, I've never done this before lol
> 
> anyway! thank you for being amazing, beautiful, stunning people! I love you all, and I'll see y'all in February!
> 
> Up next: road trip! Also, Eva comes to terms with quite a few things, and things go suspiciously well, up until they don't.


	17. 16. Eva - five senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> five senses: the act of observing your senses to keep yourself grounded in the moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings today, except maybe a general ominous one that shit is about to hit the fan...

_ MINDFULNESS _

_ Eva _

_ “We’re breakin’ free!” _

Andrea shoves her head forward between Eva and Oli’s seats and hollers  _ “We’re soarin! Flyin!”  _ and Eva does her best to smother the laugh that wants to burst from her lips. She shoves Andrea’s head back with a smirk and says, “Hey,  _ some _ of us have to drive here?”

But Andrea can’t hear her over the song, or so she mimes, instead falling back to drape herself dramatically across Nikita’s lap. “Sing with me, Kitty,” she implores in an overly loud voice.

Nikita rolls her eyes, but Tyler, seated in the very back of the minivan, leans forward and takes up Gabriella’s part to Andrea’s Troy. Soon the van is filled with offkey but enthusiastic singing, Eva humming under her breath as she navigates the freeway headed towards their destination.

They’re two and a half hours into a three hour car ride and Eva is trying not to regret agreeing to this trip. Tyler’s rented a quaint little cabin on the beach just beyond Santa Barbara that he got at a discount, since no one in their right mind goes camping in mid October, even in California.

Especially now, with the weather looking more and more apocalyptic every day. Eva eyes at the clouds gathering overhead. She’d brought her surfing gear in the hopes that she could spend some time out there on the water, but SoCal waves are  _ way _ different than the perfect swells found in Hawaii. The last thing she needs is to survive a magical massacre only to drown in the Pacific freaking Ocean.

If they get there in time, she might get a chance to test the swells out. The forecast says they might be good, even with the weirdly overcast weather—it isn’t quite winter, which is prime surfing season, but on the cusp of it promises good waves. Plus it probably won’t be very crowded. Either way she’ll finally get to surf again, after years of doing anything fun. She’s due for another trip back to Hawaii, she thinks wistfully as she follows the signs for the campsite.

Oli sighs and leans his head back to thunk against the headrest as the second round of survivors yell their way through  _ We’re All In This Together _ . “Why did we let Tyler have control of the radio again?”

“High School Musical is American tradition, Oliver!” Tyler hollers from the way back.

Oli makes a face that Eva can’t help but laugh at. They’ve already cycled through Lady Gaga, Kesha, and Taylor Swift—all Tyler’s choices, and it’s a wonder Nikita hasn’t strangled him yet. Eva glances at her pouting in the rearview mirror and arches a brow when they catch gazes. Nikita shrugs and flashes a smirk, and Eva chuckles, shaking her head.

She shouldn’t be worried about their youngest. Nikita can take care of herself, certainly. It’s just that they all have rather codependent relationships with their survival partner, but Nikita’s borders on dysfunctional. Without Matt she’s a lot quieter, and maybe meaner (they all know how rough it was for these particular survivors to recover from their slaughtering—Eva imagines that Nikita never wants to be far from Matt again if she can help it). Despite that, though, she hasn’t complained, and she doesn’t seem antsy about the idea of spending a couple days on a beach.

Actually, she’d shown Eva her four different bikinis, prompting Eva to remind her that they were only staying for two days, to which Nikita responded with, “Uh yeah, duh, that’s why I only packed four.”

 Eva also wishes Matt had come along, because this doesn’t feel complete without him, but she understands that he’s caught up with work and taking care of baby Ollie. Still, they’re almost there, and she is determined to relax and have fun on this trip.

The cabin is more like a lodge, she notes when they pull into its driveway. It’s a five minute walk to the beach on the other side of the campground, two stories, surrounded by impossible tall pines, and when they venture inside—Nikita flouncing through the doorway and groaning  _ “Finally!” _ —they’re greeted by a large sitting room surrounding a huge fireplace, a small kitchenette off to the side, and a large, metal spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

Oli lets out a low whistle. “Tyler, this is incredible.”

Even Tyler looks surprised. “Yeah, it kind of is, isn’t it?” He scratches his blonde head.  “I gotta admit, this is bigger than I expected.”

“How much was it?” Eva asks.

“You don’t want to know.”

She rolls her eyes. “I thought we agreed we were all chipping in on this.”

“Yep, and I’ll tell you when we check out.” He smiles sweetly at her. Eva sticks her tongue out at him.

Nikita is already flying up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time even with her platform heels. “Do not leave for the beach without me, Eva!” she yells as she goes.

Eva just shakes her head with a smile and goes to get changed into her wetsuit.

She loves these dorks.

 -

Eva inhales through her nose, relaxing immediately at the scent of saltwater and driftwood and sand. The wind whips a few of her curls from their bun and about her face, and she tilts her head to let it caress her cheek, knowing this is where she belongs.

“I still feel like this might be a little dangerous,” Oli frets from behind her.

“It’ll be fine,” she tells him, turning to give him a smile. He smiles back, albeit nervously, and she reaches over to pat his hand. “I’ve done this a million times before,” she assures him.

He brings her fingers to his lips and kisses her palm, not averting his gaze from hers. Eva stills, heart thudding in her chest, as a beat passes, and then he says, “I believe you.”

This time the smile she gives him is more genuine, grateful, as she turns back to the great blue ocean before her. Her pulse roars in her ears over the sound of the waves crashing and, without giving herself time to talk herself out of it, she sprints forward into the water.

Ice cold. A shiver runs through her as she pushes through the surf, but despite the shock of it, she’s already laughing. Swimming in a pool just isn’t the same. She sinks up to her shoulders and the water laps at her chin like it’s saying hello.

It’s so loud and yet so silent. She’s the only one out here, too, which isn’t all that surprising considering the unusual weather. Twisting around, one hand on the yellow surfboard floating next to her, Eva can see she’s already waded far from the beach. Nikita’s lounging in the sand, while Andrea, Tyler, and Oli all stand at the water’s edge, watching her. When Oli sees her looking back, he raises an arm in a wave, and Eva grins. She climbs onto her board and paddles further.

It’s instinct now, and training. Eva paddles until she’s far enough, and sits up, straddling the board, scanning the horizon for a good swell. She catches one, brings herself parallel, and—timing it with her head, feeling it with her entire body,  _ knowing— _ comes up, braces her feet on the board, and stands in a semi-crouch.

The board becomes an extension of her feet as she turns it this way and that, balancing on the wave as it crests and then crashes, and she rides the momentum all the way back to shore, grinning like a fool all the while.

Her friends applaud—Oli and Tyler with great enthusiasm, much to her amusement—as she tucks her board under her arm and heads out again, losing herself as she catches wave after wave. It’s been so long since she’s gone surfing, and she’d forgotten how it felt to feel so small, and yet so on top of the world. Like she’s flying and yet ever-grounded, like she’s one with the world around her, a part of it instead of existing on it. Each set is  _ perfect, _ too, the right size and perfectly positioned as if they’re all tailor-made for her, waiting for her, and guiding her safely back to shore. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying, tears of sheer relief until she feels the contrast of warmth cutting through the cold, crusty saltwater on her cheeks, and she’s laughing at how ridiculous it is that she’s felt so tense and so scared for so long and now here, out in the biggest ocean in the world, she’s never felt so safe.

No, she thinks as she sits on her board in the lull between waves, it’s because she’s never allowed herself to feel safe. She doesn’t know how it happened, but the others look to her to keep them safe, and so she always has to be on guard. And it’s Oli who—

_ Don’t think about that. _ She’s past that. She has to be.

She turns her head to survey the shoreline, to pick out her friends, and is startled to see Oli crashing through the shore break towards her. She frowns. It’s too cold out here to swim without a wetsuit, and though she can’t see his expression, his body language looks rather panicked. And the others remain on the beach, all standing and watching her. Why do they seem so scared?

She starts to paddle in, unease curling in her gut. Something is wrong. She doesn’t know what, but Oli shouldn’t—

_ Boom. _

The entire ocean quivers with the earth, bone deep. Eva feels it in her chest. Oli, still so far away, stops where the water has come up to his elbows and clutches at his heart like it  _ hurts. _ Eva whips her head around to survey the sea, looking for—something, some kind of threat, something she knows is coming.

She gasps and puts a hand to her temple. It feels like a spike went through it. Something shifts beneath the waves, she feels it with her feet, a kind of shift every surfer knows.

Fear locks her limbs for half a second as she stares, stricken, at where Oli is waving her back from where he stands in the shallows. She can’t paddle in, she’ll never make it. That boom came from the earth itself. If she stays here in the breaking zone she can try to catch it, and ride it in. It’ll be faster but also  _ way _ more dangerous. Who knows how big that set’ll be?

There’s another option, too, but Eva doesn’t want to entertain it. She needs to go in, now. Funtime’s over.

She looks over her shoulder, feeling more than seeing it form. Her heart sinks—it’s steep, way too steep, steeper than anything she’s ever tried to ride. But she’s already committed to it, so Eva stalls until it reaches her and executes a rather shaky pop-up, balancing on her board as the wave begins its curl. She leans her weight forward, bringing the tip of her board down just a little so she has more control, and all of a sudden the terror dissipates, and in its place is exhilaration. She  _ feels _ it, not just with her board, or with her feet, or with her fingers just brushing the surface of it. The lip curls overhead and forms a tube and instead of getting scared she just leans back again, adjusting her speed. She doesn’t have to look behind her to know where the other side of the tube opens up again, she just knows, in her lungs, and she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

She’s going to make it.

And then, without warning, another spike of pain stabs right through her temples. Eva chokes on it, knees wobbling, and she already knows she can’t regain her balance in time. Her board surges vertically and just like that she’s going under.

Eva clenches her teeth around the half breath she’d managed to gasp before she wiped out. The water swirls like darkness around her as she tumbles, yanked around by the leash on her ankle. On the surface the wave is still cresting, and her board is caught up in the ride like a ball in a washing machine. She has no idea which way is up. The sea that felt like such a comfort now tosses her around like a ragdoll, and she knows she can’t hold onto the air in her lungs. It’s poetic, really, to survive a massacre on land only to die out here in the ocean. She hadn’t had the time to say goodbye. She hopes that Oli—

Her half breath is gone. Eva feels hot tears form at the corner of her eyes, squeezed against the saltwater. She doesn’t even have the time to apologize—to her parents, her fans, to Tyler, Oli, to Nikita and Andrea, to Matt—her lungs expand and water is rushing in and she feels immeasurable stabs of pain as she gasps nothing but ocean, and it’s unbearable, and over the sound of her panic she could swear she hears laughter, and it’s still going, and it’s still going, and…

Peace.

Eva’s body floats beneath the surface as the rogue wave finally expels itself, leaving her board rocking gently up top. She has her arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug, and she stays that way for another second or two before she breathes out, and then in again, and wonders why the  _ hell _ that is.

She opens her eyes. Salt stings them immediately, so she screws them shut again, but takes another tentative breath and—yes, still water, but the pain is gone now. And yet, she’s still breathing… under the water. She’s breathing under water.

What… the hell.

Is she dead? No, because why would she still be here in the ocean if she was? But also this isn’t possible. Or… is it? Andrea can more or less read minds, and Eva’s literally time traveled before. Still, those can have very scientific explanations. This… isn’t humanly possible. No way.

She still can’t see, but she feels the crash of someone breaking the surface, and in another second a hand wraps around her wrist and hauls her towards air. Eva kicks to help speed up the process, still breathing saltwater and half amazed, half terrified by it.

The two of them break the surface, but when Eva tries to inhale oxygen, she chokes again, and suddenly all of that water is coming up. She finds her board and clings to it as she coughs, sputtering, her lungs doing their best to purge themselves of the ocean that had invaded. A broad hand pats her between the shoulder blades, and when Eva can finally breathe again she turns and sees that it’s Oli, treading water next to her, his brown eyes wide and blown with panic. Oli, here, out here, in the ocean. To save her. Oli, who hates water so much it triggers panic attacks when he so much as takes a bath. Oli, grasping her board with one hand and the side of her face with the other, thumbing her cheek as if it’ll keep them both grounded.

“Are you all right?” he yells over the surf, and Eva thinks she’s never loved his accent more.

She nods. He helps her back on her board and they both paddle in. When they get to shallow enough water the other survivors are there immediately, and Eva suddenly finds herself surrounded by her friends. They’re patting her down with towels, Tyler grasping her face and turning it this way and that like he’s looking for wounds. Eva’s too tired to protest. Her sides ache from where the pain of inhaling saltwater had stabbed them, and her head is pounding, and she can’t forget the laughter she’d thought she heard when she was drowning.

Everyone is talking over each other, but all Eva can hear is her own heartbeat. Her fingers curl around Oli’s, and he understands.

“Let’s give her some space,” he urges the others, and one by one they all back off, until she’s left with no one but her partner.

“Do you need a hospital?” he asks, and she shakes her head. He hums. “All right. Just rest now. You’re safe.”

“Thanks for coming after me.”

She hadn’t realized she said that out loud until Oli chuckles, running fingers through her hair, and he kisses the temple that had been so wrought with pain minutes earlier.

“Always,” he says.

 -

“Wait. Hold up.”

Nikita holds her arms in an x, flipping her blonde wig over her shoulder. “Say that again? You were breathing  _ underwater?” _

Eva nods. They’re back at the cabin after she’d insisted that she was okay, and didn’t need immediate medical attention, just a shower and maybe a nap. The afternoon sun has finally broken through the overcast clouds, streaming in through the high windows at the front of the cabin. The fire’s roaring in the hearth where they’re gathered around, and both Eva and Oli are wrapped in thick blankets, sitting side by side on the couch facing the fireplace. Tyler is on the floor leaning against her legs. He hasn’t said a word since they got back, and Eva is starting to worry about him.

Oli is still shaking, an hour later, and Eva leans into him to try to quell it. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t be.” Tears well up and she very stubbornly orders them to stay where they are. “You didn’t have to come out there for me, Oli, the water…”

“You were in trouble,” he answers, like it’s that simple. “Besides, I’ve swam in colder conditions.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

He sighs. “When Andrea said something was coming, I didn’t even really think about it. I didn’t have time to be scared until afterwards.”

“Thank you,” she says, again, because she realizes the significance of it, even if the others don’t. She’d been there, when the Ringmaster decided to drop both him and Tim into the dunk tanks. She hadn’t been able to look away, trying in the split second between hearing him scream and hearing the splash of them hitting the water to come to terms with the fact that she was about to witness a brutal murder, because she couldn’t look away.

She wonders if Tim would have the same issues with water, if he’d survived the night, and decides that no, Tim wasn’t afraid of anything.

It’s stupid that she misses him at a time like this.

Nikita is still reeling. “You’re telling us you have fish powers now.”

“I mean, I don’t know,” Eva admits. “I went under, and when I inhaled it  _ hurt, _ and then it didn’t hurt anymore. I was breathing in and out and it was fine.”

“That’s incredible,” Andrea murmurs. “Matt was right, I’m not the only one.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nikita demands.

“He had some theories,” she began, running a hand through her short hair—she keeps doing that, forgetting she’d cut it. “Back when we were testing the limits of whatever this psychic thing is. He said that the slaughtering must have triggered it, because I hadn’t been able to do it before and all of a sudden now I can.”

“But we returned before you and Tyler did,” Eva points out. “And I’ve never been able to breathe underwater.”

“I mean, have you tried?”

Eva sits back like she’d been hit between the eyes. No, of course not, nobody  _ tries _ to drown themselves, not even as bad off as she’d been upon first returning to her present time. And… “I’ve always been comfortable around water,” she murmurs, rubbing her arms under the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “I’ve always felt the most safe out there in the ocean, even before the slaughtering.”

“Have you swam in it since?” Andrea prods.

Eva shakes her head.

“There’s your answer.” Andrea sighs and slumps back, mimicking her. “I saw you fall, minutes before it happened. And we all felt that… that crack, that boom.”

Oli’s hand strays to his chest. “It hurt,” he muttered. “Felt like a rib was giving way.”

Eva hadn’t felt that. She frowns. “Whatever this is had to have been triggered by the slaughterings,” she says aloud. “Andrea… what is going on?”

She stares at her hands. “I don’t know, but we need to figure it out. I can’t shake the feeling that something big… something  _ bad _ is about to happen.”

Tyler burrows himself further into Eva’s legs. Oli wraps his arms around Eva.

That’s what she was afraid she’d say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S UP YALL IT'S FEBRUARY DIDJA MISS ME
> 
> h OO boy it's been a minute but I'm back, you're welcome or conversely I apologize!
> 
> surfing sounds fun and also super dangerous, glad I'm more of a snowboarding mountain child than an ocean-loving beach bum D:
> 
> I also apologize about the q&a thing, I still want to do that (feel free to ask your questionsss) but I'm in some dire need of money in order to buy my video editing software... I mean, I could maybe do a Twitter q&a if you'd like? lemme know ok
> 
> Up Next: the group is determined to treat this vacation like it's actually a vacation, but things are escalating, and you know what they say about keeping secrets...


	18. 17. Tyler - progressive relaxation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> progressive (muscle) relaxation: the act of gathering and releasing tension, especially when flooded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small trigger warning for a panic attack at the beginning of the chapter, I've marked in bold where it starts and ends if you'd like to skip, pls take care of yourselves <3

  _Tyler_

Tyler’s eyes fly open.

In the pitch black, it takes him a second to understand why he’s awake. The wind outside is howling— _ screaming, _ actually, a low moan whistling through the trees at an ungodly volume. He shivers under the blankets. He’s cold, why is he cold? Why is it so dark? It’s absolute in its intensity and he doesn’t understand why until he reaches for his phone to look at the clock.  _ 3:19, _ but what catches his eye in the battery icon in the corner. His phone is plugged in, but it isn’t charging.

Next to him, Andrea stirs from her side of the bed from the light of his phone. “Why’s it so dark?” she murmurs, words slurred from sleep.

“Power’s out,” he tells her.

“Oh.”

They’d all gone to bed early, hoping to put yesterday’s fiasco behind them. Eva in particular was exhausted after  _ not _ drowning in the ocean she loved so much. Oli, too, had been oddly subdued in the wake of it, rubbing at his chest like it still hurt.

And Tyler had worried, and he’s still worried, because they’d all felt the earth crack like something had split open, but Oli had damn near crumpled himself, clutching at his solar plexus and  _ screaming, _ and yes he was okay in the next second—okay enough to brave water,  _ water, _ and swim out to where Eva had slipped beneath the waves, but Tyler had thought for the briefest second that Oli had been shot, and was dying, and he couldn’t remember ever being so scared in his entire life, not even during the slaughtering.

It’s okay, though, now. Oli isn’t dead, Eva can breathe underwater. The group had decided to table the rest of the day’s activities for tomorrow, eaten a morose dinner that mostly consisted of Top Ramen and bread rolls, since none of them really felt up for cooking, and—after divvying up the two beds and deciding Oli would sleep on the couch out in the foyer, since neither he nor Eva felt Up to that next step in their relationship—turned in early with the hopes that the next day will be better.

If it’s starting out like this, though, Tyler can’t say he’s all too excited about it.

Andrea suddenly reaches over to grasp Tyler’s wrist.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oli,” she whispers, tense. “Something’s wrong, I can feel it—”

Tyler’s already out of bed. He doesn’t know this room well, and the gathering storm clouds have the moon sheathed even with the number of wide windows in this cabin, so he stumbles quite a bit on his way to the door, throwing it open and rushing down the stairs.

Just under the sound of the wind he can hear Oli thrashing, breath in labored pants, and he doesn’t even think as he makes his way to the couch. He bangs his shin on the coffee table and barely even feels it, kneeling and reaching out to grasp Oli by the shoulders.

**The younger man is coated in sweat,** tossing his head back and forth, eyes squeezed shut and teeth ground. The blankets are twisted around his frame and he’s clutching at his chest, whining and—to Tyler’s shock—crying, too, as tears slip from the corners of his eyes and down his face.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks up to see Eva, Nikita, and Andrea all gathered behind the couch on the other side. “He’s having a nightmare, I can’t wake him up.”

Oli releases a sound like a strangled sob, and Tyler’s heart shatters. “Oli? Wake up, honey,” and he shakes him again as Eva comes around the couch to help him. Oli burrows his face into the pillow he’s using, tears staining the cotton.

“Oli?” Eva puts a hand on the side of his face, and in the next second he’s awake, brown eyes blown wide and scanning the faces before him as he gasps in air.

Tyler recognizes all the signs of his roommate’s impending panic attack and he sends a glance to Andrea, who pulls Nikita back even as the younger girl tries to approach now that Oli’s awake. “Hey, you’re safe,” he soothes as Oli tries to push himself into the corner of the couch. “Oli?”

But he isn’t sure the Brit can hear him. His eyes are hard to see in the dark but there’s a gleam in them that tells Tyler that he isn’t entirely with them. His gasping is climbing in intensity and volume, wheezing as he tries to pull missing oxygen into his lungs, and Tyler suddenly remembers all of his DBT skills.

He reaches and finds Oli’s hands. “Oli,” he says, keeping his voice from wavering, “Squeeze my hands as hard as you can. Oli?” He waits until Oli’s eyes find him, lock on. His entire frame trembles and Tyler is suddenly very aware that his friend could snap him in two if he chose to. He pushes the irrational thought away. “Squeeze my hands, Oliver,” he orders.

Oli’s fingers shake with the rest of him, but he curls them around Tyler’s and squeezes. “Harder,” Tyler coaxes, and this time Oli puts all of his attention into squeezing Tyler’s hands. “Now release,” he says, and when Oli releases the tension it flows from his shoulders, too. “Good,” he tells him, “again, hard as you can.”

It takes another three tries—another three long,  _ long _ moments of his strongest friend crushing his hands in his as he gathers as much of his tension and stress in his fists, holds it as long as he can, and then releases it—but Oli begins to breathe again. He’s still shaking as he finally lets go of Tyler’s hands and drops his face into his pillow again, continuing to cry but no longer panicking.

Tyler takes a step back and lets Eva turn Oli’s face into her chest when she kneels next to him. She cradles his head in her arms as he cries, and Tyler lets Andrea take him by the elbow and lead him into the kitchen to give the two of them some privacy.

**She tsks as she surveys his bruised hands.** “Oli’s not going to be happy with you when he finds out you let him hurt you.”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t find out,” Tyler retorts, flexing his fingers.

Nikita, also waiting in the kitchen, hands him one of the steaks they’d brought, still frozen from its extended stay in the cooler, stone-faced. “The hell happened?”

“He—doesn’t like the dark,” he explains, which doesn’t nearly convey it, especially since  _ none _ of them are big fans of darkness, or nighttime just in general, but it affects Oli in a different way than the others. “I’m guessing the power going out also knocked out his nightlight and it triggered a nightmare.”

Nikita nods, thoughtful, and then passes Tyler and Andrea to enter the foyer. Tyler moves to stop her, but Andrea puts a hand on his shoulder. “She’s got this,” she says, and Tyler nods, sinking onto the stool at the countertop and letting Andrea ice his aching fingers.

“This is off to a rough start,” he sighs.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Do you believe that?”

Andrea’s shoulders slump. “I have to, don’t I? Magical powers and shit aren’t as cool as you think they are when you’re a kid. And I just have this  _ awful _ feeling…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Tyler,” she says, serious for a moment. “I don’t know how long we can keep pretending, but something is out there and it’s not going to let us. You know that, right?”

“One more day,” he says, and if he sounds like he’s begging then well, maybe he is. The universe at large, if not just Andrea. “This whole thing was Oli’s idea, it’s supposed to be a good thing. One more day and then we can figure this out. Andrea, please?”

A small  _ whoosh _ sounds from where Nikita lights a fire in the hearth, bathing the pitch black cabin in the warm orange glow. Oli looks up from Eva’s embrace and smiles at her, and she just flips her hair—her real hair, short and brown with remnants of faded pink—over her shoulder and comes back into the kitchen.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Tyler asks.

“Boy Scouts.” But it’s said so deadpan that Tyler can’t tell if she’s joking or not.

Andrea pushes a hand through her dark, choppy hair. “One more day,” she agrees finally.

Tyler smiles at her, letting the tension drain from his own shoulders.

It’s stalling, but mindful stalling, and that’s all that matters.

-

They all end up crashing in the foyer, not wanting Oli to be alone. The Brit had been embarrassed and ashamed, despite them reassuring him that it happens and it’s all right. Still, relapsing is never fun or easy, and Tyler can’t claim to be ignorant of how humiliating it feels to have an attack in front of witnesses. Even if they’re people you trust. Maybe especially if they’re people you trust.

Morning brings gray skies, but Tyler is determined to actually enjoy this before they have to leave for home. He gets up early with Andrea and they cook a breakfast worthy of MasterChef—right after they figured out how to turn on the generator, which turned out to be a monumental task for two gays. Still, the cabin soon smells of bacon and pancakes, French toast and eggs, bringing in a bleary-eyed Nikita and Oli and Eva, looking more refreshed than the rest of them, that’s for sure.

Tyler points his spatula in their direction. “I hope y’all kept your conversation last night PG-13.”

Oli blushes bright red right up to his ears, while Eva rolls her eyes and hops herself onto the counter. “Did you make—”

“Blackberry compote, yes, please get your ass off my counter.”

“Make me,” she shoots back, and Andrea shoves her off the counter, making her squawk.

Oli catches her and steadies her on her feet, raising an eyebrow. “What’s blackberry compote?”

Tyler blinks mid pancake flip and almost misses catching it again. Eva gasps. “You don’t know what compote is?”

“Ah… no?”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

He pouts at her, and she laughs and pecks him on the cheek. “You’re gonna love this, hold on.”

“Eva that’s  _ hot—” _ Tyler tries to say when she sticks a finger in the pot, scooping the sweet liquid onto the tip of it and sticking it in Oli’s already protesting mouth the next second.

Tyler screeches and starts clapping his hands. “Okay! Time Out! Too straight for present company, thank you!”

“I’m bi too, dumbass,” Eva says over her shoulder.

“You know what I mean!”

“That’s really good,” Oli says when Eva takes her finger back. “Kinda like the lovechild of jam and syrup.”

Eva points at him. “Exactly!”

“It’s too fucking early for this,” Nikita groans from where she’s trying to set up the Keurig she’d brought.

They manage to get breakfast in order without much more fussing and all sit on the couches in the foyer with their food. Tyler eyes the mug Nikita’s nursing. “I thought you said you don’t drink much coffee.”

“I drink  _ my _ coffee,” she replies. “I don’t like a lotta espresso drinks these days.”

Tyler pouts. “But Myling—”

“—is lovely, and reminds me of my _abuela,”_ she says, tucking her legs under herself on the couch.

Andrea nudges him. “Let her live her life, Tyler.”

He rolls his eyes and lets the matter drop. “So, for today I figured we’d go hiking? There’s a lake not far from here and we can maybe try fishing in it.”

“Do you know how to fish?” Nikita asks skeptically.

“Nope! But I heard that’s not really the point of it.”

“I can teach you,” both Oli and Nikita say at the same time, and they glance at each other in surprise.

“What?” she says, a bit defensive. “You don’t think I know how to fish?”

“Didn’t think you’d be willing to,” he admits, “not with those nails.”

“Girl, these are reinforced acrylics, I know what I’m doing.”

Oli chuckles. “Well all right, then. But we didn’t bring any gear.”

“They’ve got a fishing hut up there where we can rent stuff,” Tyler says.

“It’s not going to rain, is it?” Eva asks, frowning out the window at the storm.

Tyler hesitates. “I mean it was  _ supposed _ to be clear all week and this storm just kind of rolled in out of nowhere, so I dunno. But we’re camping! Kinda! If we spend the whole day trapped inside I’m going to lose my mind.”

Andrea hums. “Well if we’re hiking we might as well make it a picnic then, and just hope it doesn’t rain.”

“We’ll head back the second it starts,” Tyler promises.

“Ugh, exercise,” Nikita grumbles.

Andrea starts to laugh, followed by the others. Tyler catches Oli’s eye, and when the Brit smiles at him, he finally begins to relax.

Maybe they have nothing to fear after all.

Maybe.

-

“This is  _ boring!” _ Tyler complains loudly.

Nikita rolls her eyes. “Listen, if you wanted to really fish we had to have done this  _ way _ earlier, like ungodly hours of the morning kinda earlier. There ain’t no fish out here right now.”

“What?” he demands. “You’re telling me we’ve casted these lines for nothing?”

Oli sends him a bemused smile. “Weren’t you the one who said that trying to catch fish isn’t the point of fishing?”

“That’s just what people  _ say _ to make themselves feel better when they  _ fail, _ Oli.”

They’re all sitting on the dock with fishing poles in hand, enjoying the weather now that it’s cleared up some. The lake is really more like a pond and can be circumnavigated in an hour, tops, but it’s beautiful and silent and no one is out here so it feels a lot like they have it to themselves.

The bait shop housed one rather cranky old man that Nikita jokingly pegged as a serial killer due to the deepness of his scowl upon discovering five Youtubers, all wanting fishing poles and bait and permission to use the lone dock protruding almost to the center of the small lake. 

But they’re been out here for  _ hours _ now, the day slowly turning into afternoon, and Tyler has yet to catch a single fish. Granted, the others haven’t either, although it’s clear that Nikita and Oli are both comfortable with that, and maybe just casting their lines in general. Andrea is lounging back with Eva, tracing patterns in the swirl of clouds overhead, while Nikita and Oli talk about where they both learned to fish and why they like it so much and the types of fish they’ve caught.

Tyler, for once, is not at the center of attention, and finds that he doesn’t much care for that, thank you.

“We should break for the picnic now,” he announces, and gets up, putting his fishing pole down without bothering to reel the line back in.

Oli and Nikita exchange glances and Oli sighs, picking Tyler’s pole up and reeling it back in himself. “I suppose I could eat,” he muses.

“Good, I brought salami.”

They all return their gear and return to the rocky beach, surveying for a place to sit. They find one in the form of a long, hollowed out log parallel to the water, and they all plant themselves on it and put down the cooler Oli and Tyler had carried from the cabin, filled with lunch meats and breads and cheeses.

The day stretches on and they eat their lunch and settle into a comfortable silence. Tyler sighs, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. Thank god the clouds have cleared somewhat, and he can actually see the blue sky California is so known for.

Oli sighs, too, lowering his sandwich. “It’s too bad Matt couldn’t make it,” he laments. “It’s so peaceful out here, and the man really needs to learn how to relax.”

Tyler slumps at the reminder of their missing member. “Yeah, I’m really starting to worry about him,” he confesses. “He just—doesn’t look good. There are times when he just kind of stares off into space and nothing you say can bring him back.”

“And when he does come back,” Eva continues the thought, “he looks like someone’s kicked his cat.”

“And he never wants to tell us what’s wrong,” Andrea murmurs. “I wish I could read him.”

Tyler frowns. “Can’t you?”

“No. It’s weird. All of us survivors—” she gestures to each of them in turn. “I can hear us, clear as a bell, and when I look at you I see colors, but Matt is just like anyone else. Sometimes, if the emotion is extreme, I can get a read on him. But I have to work for it, not like when I’m with you guys. It’s almost like…”

She trails off, and Nikita mutters, “Like he isn’t really a survivor?”

They weren’t supposed to hear it, but they do. And Tyler doesn’t quite know what to make of the question, but Andrea’s eyes lock onto Nikita, and a second later she sucks in a breath.

“You’re kidding,” she breathes.

Nikita realizes what’s happened in the exact same second. “Andrea—”

“He  _ died?” _

“Andrea!”

“Wait, what?” Tyler sits up, sandwich forgotten. “Matt died? But—”

“Matt  _ what?” _ Eva exclaims, and soon everybody’s talking over everybody, except for Tyler, who sits there with the remains of his sandwich in his lap, stunned at this revelation.

Nikita looks trapped, half standing, trying to explain over the cacophony. “It’s not like—we brought him back, Joey brought him back, and it’s a  _ good _ thing he did because we wouldn’t have survived without him! And he taught me how to be  _ kind, _ he didn’t hold any of our fights against me, he comforted me immediately after I shot Manny, he deserves to be here just as much as—”

“You shot Manny?”

Standstill. The words the others had been saying die on their lips as Eva stands to her fullest height, towering over Nikita like a thundercloud. “Is that why you never talk about him?” she demands. “Because you were the one to kill him?”

Nikita stares up at her with wide eyes and Tyler thinks, in the wild half-second between breaths, that this is the first time he’s  _ ever _ seen Nikita look scared.

And then she runs, dropping her food and taking off , not towards the trails but towards the  _ road, _ gone before anyone can say anything else.

“Nikita!” Andrea shouts, sprinting after her, and Oli follows close behind, their picnic forgotten halfway through it.

Eva is still standing, clenching her fists and seething, while Tyler stares up at her from where he’s still seated on the log. “I knew it,” she snarls, stalking away, towards the edge of the water and back again. “I  _ knew _ they were hiding  _ something _ but I didn’t think—how could they keep this from us? How can they look us in the face and  _ lie—” _

“Eva?”

She whirls to him. “They’re liars! They lied! To  _ me, _ Tyler, to  _ me _ and I let them, I’m such an idiot! I  _ believed _ them! What else did they lie about? If Matt’s not even a survivor—”

“He is.” And the thing is that Tyler, in the vacuum of shock and hurt,  _ knows _ that in his heart. He knows it like he knows his own name. He puts his sandwich down and stands, getting closer, grasping her by the hands. His best friend, who prides herself so much on her ability to protect her friends, and he can see how blindsided she is by this revelation, and how she’s questioning everything she’s ever put her faith in.

But Tyler knows Matt, knows Nikita, knows, too, why they would want to keep this a secret from the rest of the group. They’re the newest survivors, they’d had no reason to trust them in the first place. And if Nikita shot her best friend, if Matt’s died, those come with a whole other set of trauma they might not be ready to talk about.

“You’re not upset with Nikita and Matt,” he tells her gently.

Eva yanks her hands from his grip. “The hell I’m not!”

“You aren’t,” he says. “You’re upset with yourself for trusting them.”

“They  _ lied, _ Tyler, they—”

“Had the ability to hurt us, and they didn’t,” he finishes for her. She closes her mouth. “And they won’t. You know that just as well as I do.”

“But…” And it’s hurt, this time, instead of anger. “They lied to us, Tyler.”

“And the least we can do is let them explain why,” he pushes, not unkindly. “Then pass judgement. Right? Isn’t that we learned from Andrea?”

She looks away, but not fast enough to hide the tear that runs fast down her far cheek. The entire world is tipping again, the clouds beginning to gather once more overhead, and Tyler knows nothing is going to be the same again. Eva knows it, too.

Then Eva hardens, swiping it away and turning to face him again.

“Okay,” she says. “But I’m not promising anything.”

“C’mon,” he says, knowing he won’t get anything more than that. “We should go find Nikita.”

He has a feeling their little vacation is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loose lips sink ships!
> 
> Up Next: Nikita has several crises, Gabby is a damn good friend, and just because bridges burn doesn't mean you can't build new ones.


	19. 18. Nikita - relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> relapse (n, v): a deterioration in someone's state of health after a temporary improvement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: non-graphic self harm, brief suicide ideation, thought errors throughout the entire chapter. it's a rough one, please be safe.
> 
> (also a language warning since it is Nikita and, well, she's upset rn)
> 
> relapsing isn't a DBT skill but it is a fact of life, and of the healing process in general.

  _Nikita_

She takes her shoes off to run.

The pavement digs into her bare feet, stinging and burning her sensitive soles and she can’t even feel it all that much, or else she can’t be bothered to care. There’s _ too much, _ the too much that had been her ever-constant companion the first month after the slaughtering. It sears through her veins again like it never left. She’s choking on it. Choking on the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Nikita runs in a blind sprint, clutching her sandals to her chest—because these are  _ Gucci _ and  _ fuck _ if she’s leaving them behind just because her entire world is collapsing around her. Does she even have—yes, her phone is fit into the snug pocket of the white capris she’s wearing, though all her shit is back at the cabin, and her friends, too, if they are her friends after this? She saw the look on Eva’s face, the flurry of emotions from terror and betrayal to a rage that burns hotter than  _ anything _ Nikita can possibly conjure herself, and she can’t even blame her because she  _ knows. _

This, what she’s feeling, isn’t even fury, it’s hurt. And  _ fear, _ god, so much fear, mostly  _ what do I tell Matt? _

She fucked up. Oh, if there’s any fury at all, it’s directed inwards. This is her fault. Her fault for voicing what she’s been wondering since she and Matt escaped Everlock. Her fault for volunteering to room with a psychic, a psychic who’s gotten to know her well enough by now to hear her thoughts. Her fault for trying to defend her survival partner instead of remembering the  _ number one rule _ that kept her safe in Everlock.

The rule that got Manny killed.

_ No, _ she thinks as the trees alongside the road blur by. She killed Manny, with her own two hands. She’d had the choice and she chose herself and that’s always been the problem. And now she’s chosen someone else— _ so _ afraid that they were going to cut Matt, that she would have to choose between this new family and the person who got her through their slaughtering—and spilled her own secret without even thinking about it. That it’s murder and it’s not the same thing as going up against an opponent in a death challenge. It’s murder and it was her best friend in the entire world and Nikita can’t ask for forgiveness or understanding. She’s a fool to have ever thought she could pretend it never happened. It’s a lie too many people know the truth to, and even more still now.

She should disappear.

Nikita slows to a stop and sinks to her knees alongside the road. Dirt stains the white denim and she can’t bring herself to give a fuck. It’s too loud. She’s too hot. She can’t breathe. It’s too much.

Her phone buzzes. Nikita pulls it out of her pocket, moving to turn it off, but her eye catches the picture attached to the caller ID. Gabby’s flawlessly lined face pouts at her from the screen, and without thinking about it she answers the call.

_ “Hey sis,” _ he says before she can even say hello,  _ “I just heard back from Ulta about—” _

“Gabby, I need your help.”

He stutters to a stop, the cheer vanishing from his voice.  _ “What’s wrong, sweetie? What’s going on?” _

“I—” She trips over her words and her tears, a whole ass mess and nothing can fix it. “I did something, I did something awful and now everyone knows and everything’s wrong and it’s  _ my fault—” _

_ “Where are you? I’m on my way.” _

“No, no,” she tells him, “I’m—safe, I think, you don’t have to—”

_ “Too late, I already pinged your phone.” _ She hears him mutter to himself, the jingle of his car keys, and then he’s shutting his door, opening the door to his car, shutting that too.  _ “Wait there for me, okay?” _

“Okay,” she mumbles. Just because it’s fucking easier than arguing, or pointing out that she’s three hours north of him. Just because she’s too tired and she can’t spare the energy to think anything through right now. Maybe she wants to be destructive. Maybe she should just give in to her pre-written destiny of being a monster. Maybe they  _ should _ fear her, and she should stop pretending to be a hero, or  _ good, _ or anything other than what she’s known in her heart this whole time.

My own two fucking hands, she thinks, breath catching on the unfairness of it.

Well. She’d had a good run. Maybe too good, she thinks numbly as she surveys her surroundings. She has no idea where she is, sitting on the cold ground alongside a lone road lined by woods on either side. She’d run faster and farther than she thought she could, even with zombies on her ass, trying to outrun her demons, mistakes, every awful thing she’d ever done. But she’s no fool. She’ll have to face this eventually, she has no doubt. At the very least she has to go back to her apartment, all her shit’s there.

Oh god, Andrea’s calling. Nikita stares at her phone, remembering all of a sudden that Gabriel’s still trying to talk to her. “Gabby,” she says, “I need to call you back.”

_ “I gotta drive anyway, babe,” _ he replies,  _ “but you let me know you’re safe, okay? And don’t fucking move, I’ll be there by six.” _

Nikita isn’t nearly entitled to the surge of love and appreciation she has for him just then, but she feels it anyway. “Thank you,” she says, and it doesn’t feel enough at all, but Gabby simply says,  _ “Of course, sweetheart,” _ and hangs up so she doesn’t have to.

The screen goes dark. Andrea’s call went to her voicemail, but her roommate apparently decided not to leave one, because it immediately begins to buzz again. Nikita stares at the phone in her hand, weighing the pros and cons of answering.

_ Fuck it. _ She answers the damn phone, and Andrea immediately gasps,  _ “I’m so fucking sorry! Kitty, listen—” _

“Don’t call me that!” Nikita explodes. “How could you do this to me! To Matt! Why couldn’t you just—”

_ “You were so loud, I’m sorry!” _

She’s sobbing, her words are wet and thick and  _ so _ scared, and Nikita can’t be mad about that, but the hurt is just as palpable and she can’t ignore that either. “It wasn’t your secret to  _ tell. _ It wasn’t even mine! I only know ‘cause I was there! And  _ Manny—” _

_ “That’s not your fault—” _

“Yes it is. Yes it is. You  _ know _ it is. You saw—”

_ “I didn’t,” _ Andrea insists.  _ “I didn’t see or hear anything, the guilt was bright red but Nikita—” _

“You have  _ no idea!” _ Nikita’s soul is screaming at her, begging for someone to understand, someone who knows, someone who was there.  _ God _ she wants Matt, she wants him here with her  _ right fucking now, _ with his touchy affection and his wise eyes and his kindness and his patience and his quiet faith in her and she can never, ever have that again and she already  _ knows.  _ “I killed him Andrea! No roundabout misplaced responsibility, no fucking loopholes, no misunderstandings! I shot him in the chest  _ six times, _ like the selfish fucking bitch I am! I chose myself just like I do  _ every fucking time _ and this is me paying the consequences!”

_ “Please come back.” _ Andrea’s crying again, and the fire in Nikita’s heart dims just a little bit.  _ “Please, we can work this out, I’ll leave, I’ll go, I’ll do anything, Kitty, just please—” _

“Don’t  _ call me that!” _ Rage flickers white hot in front of her eyes. “I  _ hate you!” _

_ “I know.” _

Nikita slams her thumb on the screen to end the call and she  _ hurls _ her phone down the empty street. The  _ too much _ is back, climbing up her throat like spiders, like a scream trapped between her ribs she’s been trying to let out for five months,  _ six months _ now. It surrounds her head like a black cloud, all noise and darkness without a hint of light and Nikita loses herself in it, in the  _ you’re a shit person you’re horrible how could you do this you fucked up you had one job they hate you they  _ hate _ you and Matt is going to hate you—  _

And no amount of crying or screaming releases the pressure. Nikita clutches at her chest and yells till she’s hoarse and then she yells some more, the sound echoing through the trees, too hot and too cold at the same time, feeling too much, feeling too much and nothing can stop it.

Nothing can fix this.

-

Time passes, but Nikita doesn’t feel it. She doesn’t, actually, feel much of anything, and wonders if this was Matt’s state of mind when he disassociated the month after they returned from their slaughtering. It’s kinda nice, she thinks, watching the wind rock the trees around her with a detachment she didn’t think was possible. No wonder he spent so long like this. She almost can’t blame him for it.

Oh. No, she can’t blame anyone for anything ever again. She’s faked it long enough. It’s time to go home.

Her—episode? Attack?— _ whatever the hell _ has long since expelled itself, leaving her, for all intents and purposes, a hollowed out shell of herself. Without anything to break, or tear to pieces, she’d taken to yanking at her hair, to digging her nails into her capris until the white is splotched with blood, shaking and crying and unable to feel any of it while at the same time feeling too much. She hasn’t had one of these episodes in a  _ long _ time, and wonders whether it was a good idea to let it build for so long. Was she ever really getting better, or was she just prolonging the inevitable?

_ Who cares, _ she thinks, tired all of a sudden, and getting cold as the breeze kisses her cooling skin.

_ Matt is going to be so disappointed in me, _ is her next thought, and then immediately after,  _ Oh, no, he’s going to hate me. _

Maybe she can stay here forever. Maybe she doesn’t have to face the music. Maybe she’ll just wither away into nothing right here on the side of the road.

Even as she’s thinking it, she’s climbing to her feet. She can see where her phone landed, minutes, hours, days ago when she’d thrown it after hanging up on Andrea. Yes, she’s going to need that, to tell Matt what happened, to tell Gabriel she’s still alive, to tell Andrea and the others not to wait up, to write a suicide note maybe—

She laughs at that thought, even though it isn’t funny.

No, she deserves this. It’s all that she deserves.

She doesn’t remember walking to her where her phone lies, but she’s suddenly stooping, picking it up, holding it in her hands and blinking at the screen. It’s cracked. Figures. She deserves that.

Oh. Twenty-eight missed calls. Fifty-odd texts, some from Andrea, some from Oli and Tyler, some from Gabby.

One from Matt.

**_You told them?_ **

She sits down again, hard, too tired to react. So they told him. Well, that’s unsurprising, it’s nearing 5 o’clock now—she’s been out here for over an hour, no wonder she’s getting cold—she’s quite frankly shocked they waited this long to confront him in the first place.

What can she possibly say that doesn’t sound like an excuse? Nikita trembles as she types back,  **_I’m sorry. It was an accident._ **

His response is immediate:  **_I was going to tell them when you guys got back._ **

Tears sting in her eyes and she blinks in surprise. She’d thought she’d cried herself out but, no, apparently not. Of course he was planning on telling them, of course it would have to come out before he could. Before she can explain, Matt texts her,  **_Listen, we can talk about this on Sunday. I’ll tell you everything. But I think I’m going to need some space until then._ **

**_Okay._ **

It’s… better than she could’ve asked for, but also  _ way _ more anxiety inducing. Matt texts like he’s writing an academic paper, with proper grammar and diction, and it’s impossible to discern what he’s really feeling or thinking. Is he upset? Almost definitely, but is he furious upset? Is he sad upset? Is he scared the group is going to shun him? If they do he won’t be alone, she thinks with grim humor, but whether he accepts her after what she did is up in the air.

Andrea’s texted her the most, mostly  **_I’m sorry_ ** and  **_please say something?_ ** She shouldn’t be ignoring her like this, but also even imagining speaking to her again after this makes Nikita’s mouth fill with the taste of metal.

Tyler and Oli both ask her to at least let them know she’s okay and something in her warms at the thought that maybe they’re furious with her, maybe they can never trust her again, but at the very least they want her safe and alive and she isn’t quite sure she deserves that kindness. Then again, she’d be freaked too if one of her friends— _ ex-friends— _ just dipped in the middle of a conversation, three hours from home, in the middle of nowhere, especially with everything that’s been going on. Doesn’t matter what that person did, she wouldn’t want them dead.

Right?

**_I’m okay,_ ** she sends to Tyler.  **_Going home._ **

**_ok doll, b safe <3_ **

No, she doesn’t deserve that at  _ all.  _

From Gabby:  **_still alive, boo?_ ** And then, when she didn’t respond,  **_please call me babe :(_ **

Maybe if she—

No. She’s too tired for this shit. Nikita calls him.

_ “Oh thank fuck,”  _ Gabriel says before the first ring ends.  _ “I was starting to freak the fuck out, Nikita.” _

“I’m sorry.”

_ “Don’t be, I’m just glad you’re safe.” _ He pauses.  _ “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” _

“I fucked up.”

_ “Okay, and?” _

“Gabby—”

_ “Nikita,” _ he says, in the exact same tone.  _ “I know you got a buncha new friends now or whatever and y’all are real tight but don’t forget who’s known you for years, saw you through all your scandals, waited for you to come home for a month and then to  _ talk _ to me for another month. If you think one little mistake is going to destroy our relationship, you’ve got another thing coming.” _

“I killed Manny.”

_ “... What?” _

And then, without thinking about it, Nikita spills everything. Everything, from getting Joey’s invitation to arriving in Everlock, in the  _ seventies. _ All the monsters, all the magic, the death challenges, how she had to watch several of her friends die, how she’d  _ made it happen. _ Roi’s death, her fault, Teala’s, how she’d put Colleen into the Iron Maiden herself, how she emptied a revolver into Manny’s chest.

“And now when they go to the cemetery to see him,” she says in a hoarse whisper, “I go to the shooting range so I can—”

_ “Trigger yourself on purpose.” _

Nikita shakes her head. “And now they know. They all know. They know Matt’s secret too, because I’m a  _ fucking failure—” _

_ “Nikita.” _

She shuts her mouth. Behind her, she hears the rumble of a car and she turns and makes sure it’s not Eva, coming to run her over for being a lying piece of shit—no, it’s Gabriel, face naked and bare, the color in his hair closer to brown than the green it’d been when she last saw him, one hand on the steering wheel and the other with his phone to his ear. He comes to a stop in front of her and climbs out, taking long strides to get to her. Without her shoes on he actually towers over her by a couple of inches, and he uses that to his full advantage when he pulls her into a hug.

Nikita stands there, frozen, not understanding. “Gabby—”

“Oh my god, Nikita,” he says, voice not harsh at all, “for once in your life, just shut up.”

Her arms come up, call still running on the phone in her hand, and she clutches him back. Gabby isn’t touchy at all but she hadn’t known that she needed this. She’s needed this for a long, long time and maybe she doesn’t deserve it but it’s here, and it’s happening, and her knees are weak, and she’s suddenly crying  _ again, _ god, again? But yes, her tears are hot and fat and roll down her cheeks and she buries her face in his shoulder like she can hide from it all.

They stand there for a long time. When Nikita stops crying again, Gabby pulls back and surveys her. He tsks at the red splotches on her white capris and Nikita flushes with shame. Well, she didn’t remember doing that, at least, and now that she’s really noticed it her thighs begin to sting.

“C’mon, babe,” he says, ignoring them for now. “Let’s go home.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“God, Nikita,  _ no.” _ He runs his hands through her hair, take her face in them and frames it, meeting her gaze. “I’m freaking out a little about the whole slaughtering thing, I’m not gonna lie, and I’m ready to kick Joey’s ass right now to be honest, but I’m not mad at you.”

“But Manny—”

“You didn’t have a choice, Nikita,” he says firmly.

“I  _ did, _ though,” she argues.

“And do you really think Manny would want that for you? At all?” He shakes her once, somehow still gentle despite the fire in his eyes. “Manny. Do you think  _ Manny _ would want to be here with the memory of you shooting yourself so he could live?  _ Manny?” _

He’s right, of course, but it doesn’t justify it. Nikita pulls away just a little, rubbing her arms. “You didn’t see the look on his face. You didn’t hear his last words.”

_ You’re not gonna shoot me. _

_ Manny, I love you. _ Like that excuses it. Like it makes it okay.

“No,” Gabby agrees. “I didn’t. But I know Manny. Just like I know you. This game, whatever it was, was fucked up and you did the best that you could. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

Nikita looks at him, and his earnest brown eyes that are not green because for some reason he hasn’t been wearing his contacts, and he’d driven three hours— _ less than that, Gabriel, how many traffic laws did you break to get here? _ —and she wishes, with her entire body, that she could believe that.

Instead she takes a step back, towards the car. She says, “Can we go home?”

Gabriel sighs, deflates a little like he knows he lost this battle, and Nikita immediately feels bad. She puts a hand on his elbow and says, “You came to get me. You listened and you don’t… I don’t think you hate me. You’re not mad. That’s more than I can even begin to ask for, Gabby. You don’t understand.”

“I don’t have to.”

And he kisses her on the forehead before they walk back to the car. Nikita curls up in the passenger seat and knows she’s going to have to face this head on when she gets back, that she has a day and a half to figure out what to say to Matt, that she doesn’t want to forgive Andrea even though she knows she already has, that she’ll have to apologize—to everyone, to everyone, that she’s lost Eva again but maybe she can salvage her relationship with Tyler and Oli, and maybe they’ll let her stay.

And if not, well.

She deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of yall are way too clever for your own good :D
> 
> Up next: Oli tries to keep the peace and faces a crisis of his own


	20. 19. Oli - riding the wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> riding the wave: sitting with discomfort, sorrow, and pain, instead of fighting the feeling by acting impulsively and engaging in harmful and self destructive behavior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny, tiny mentions of suicide ideation but it's blink and you'll miss it kinda stuff
> 
> also it's a lil short, rip... I may or may not add another chapter sometime later this week because uh we're about to tip into the final arc of this book and I'm Excited

_ Oli _

Oli can’t quite wrap his head around how quiet it is this time around.

Most everything else is the same. Eva is driving, and he occupies the passenger seat. Andrea is directly behind him. This time, Tyler sits in the seat next to her, and no one is in the back, because Nikita…

Nikita told Tyler she was going home. Oli had wanted to argue, but he’d had his hands full with a distraught Andrea. Literally. She had latched a hand onto his bare forearm and completely shut down after Nikita had hung up on her, and she didn’t let go until he half-carried, half-escorted her back to the lake.

(Later, after she’d calmed down, she told him that he’d grounded her, kept her from flying too far into the emotions flooding her, and that something about him felt solid and anchoring. “Like a mountain,” she’d murmured. “Thank you.”)

It’s not that Oli doesn’t trust Nikita. Her little confession—and about Matt, as well, if he’s thinking about it—wasn’t all that shocking to him. He’s known her to be dangerous and  _ careful, _ more careful than Eva, almost, or perhaps in a different way. Whereas Eva is cautious of the world around her, Nikita is always cautious of herself. Afraid of it, in a way, and so she keeps everyone at arm’s length if she can, and if she can’t she does her best to protect them, too.

This has always been obvious to him. But Oli isn’t one to pick sides, or sway one’s personal opinion one way or another. He knows Eva isn’t upset with Nikita. He knows Nikita isn’t upset with Andrea. Both of them are furious with themselves for trusting when they feel like they shouldn’t have.

They’re very alike. He hopes they can see that someday.

Until then he plans to remain the pillar of unwavering support he’s always been, pushing quiet faith into the universe to make up for his friends’ hopelessness. No, Oli knows by now that they’re intertwined in a way none of them can control. He knows, too, that even if the universe didn’t insist on pulling them all together (yes, even Matt, despite what Nikita and Andrea say), the bond they have now is stronger than this.

They just need a second to breathe. It’ll turn out okay. He knows it.

He is, however, a bit concerned about how Nikita will get back home. Maybe she’d called an Uber. Must be  _ expensive _ but, well, if Tyler says she’s on her way home then they’ll just have to take her word for it.

It took them a while to get back to the cabin. Tyler and Eva were already there, on the off chance Nikita had gone back, and were in the midst of packing everything. Tyler had refused to let anyone else pay for renting it, even Oli, even though this entire excursion was his idea—he was trying not to feel like an utter failure in the wake of this—and they’d all silently climbed into the van and left for Los Angeles.

That had been over two hours ago. No one has said a word. There’s no music this time. Tyler has fallen asleep, his head lolled against the window. Andrea is doing an impressive impersonation of a zombie, staring straight ahead. Oli can’t be sure but he doesn’t think she’s blinked the entire ride.

Eva’s knuckles are white from where she grips the steering wheel. Now that the object of her rage is gone, she’s mostly just been left with fear. And disappointment. Every once in a while her jaw flexes as she works not to cry. Oli resists the urge to reach over and grab her hand, but only because she’s driving.

What a state of limbo. On the verge of change. He almost doesn’t want this ride to end, because he knows when they get home things will pivot and he isn’t sure which direction it will go. He recalls something he’d told his brother once, after he’d gotten a nasty cut after jumping from a swingset. Their mother had to put disinfectant on it before she’d wrapped it, and James had cried, and asked why it hurt worse than before, and Oli had tried to tell him that things have to hurt in order to heal.

Odd that the adage can be applied here, in the emotional sense. At least he hopes so. But he isn’t sure how much worse things can get before they get better.

Eva’s eyes cut to him. “Does it still hurt?” she murmurs, breaking the silence.

Oli blinks, and realizes he’d brought his hand up to rub at his chest again. He drops it into his lap. “No, I’m fine,” he tells her, and she frowns, not believing him.

He’d been telling the truth, though. It’s a phantom pain, more like the memory of it. They’d looked, after they’d gotten back from his and Eva’s romp in the ocean, but there were no bruises, no shifting bones, no blood, nothing to indicate he’d ever been hurt.

He didn’t tell the others, but the idea of it terrifies him. The crack had hurt like… nothing he’d ever experienced before in his life. Like a part of his soul had snapped off. No one else had felt it, at least not like it’d hurt, and he doesn’t like that it singled him out and then tried to kill Eva.

That’s what happened, right? What other explanation was there? If Eva hadn’t been able to breathe underwater, she’d be dead right now. And maybe Oli would be, too, if he’d panicked like he usually does in contact with standing water. It’s only the sheer terror of losing Eva that propelled him into the waves, and even then he hadn’t really thought about it.

It’s a small comfort, that maybe he’s over his fear of water, but it also isn’t a theory Oli’s eager to test again. Especially since immediately afterwards his dream triggered a panic attack, after he’s been okay for months. 

Baby steps, maybe. He can live with that.

Speaking of theories. Oli pulls out his phone again, debating whether he should send another text to Matt. He’d already messed up earlier by asking if he knew where Nikita had gone—in his defense he assumed she would’ve told him immediately that things had flipped on its head, but maybe he’s too naïve to consider that this might have bigger consequences than he expected—but he can’t help but worry about how the older man is taking this. He sent him reassurances that they’ll figure this out, that they aren’t upset (well, most of them, kind of), that if he wants to talk about it he’s here. Matt merely replied,  **_I’ll tell you everything on Sunday._ ** And that was that.

Oli isn’t the praying type, really, but he finds himself begging anyone, anyone who’ll listen that this doesn’t shatter everything they’d tried to build in the past few months. Faith only goes so far, after all. There’s no harm in asking for some help every once in a while. But they’ve never been able to reach Matt. He doesn’t let them. All of them have made strides—with Matt’s help, even—but when they try to return the favor he shuts them out, every time.

Oli wonders if this is the reason why. His death and resurrection. It doesn’t seem any different than Joey’s own death and resurrection, save for maybe how it happened (“Joey brought him back,” is what Nikita had said, so it’s not as if Matt had a choice whether he would be dragged back kicking and screaming into the living world). Oli imagines it was probably traumatic, but he can’t figure out why Matt would keep this from them. Nikita shooting Manny, sure, she’s ought to have loads of misplaced guilt over the action, and Oli can’t blame her for being terrified of their reactions, but all Matt did was—

Oh.

Lose.

Right. Matt’s very quiet about his self deprecation, but they’ve all picked up on how he puts his entire self worth on his intelligence. It’s a bit like how Oli puts his self worth on his kindness. If you fail at the one thing you feel like you’re good at, well, there’s not much sense in continuing, is there?

Andrea makes a small noise. He meets her eyes in the mirror, and she frowns at him. Oli curls in on himself a bit. This isn’t something he voices to the others, ever, but it’s a reason why last night’s—this morning’s?—panic attack set him off like it did. He’s supposed to be their rock. If he’s slipping, he’s nothing. He might as well not even be here.

And so, yes, if Matt’s brilliant mind failed to save his life, and he got dragged back anyway, no wonder he would keep it to himself. He perceives it as failure. He probably doesn’t think he should be alive. And the knowledge that he isn’t like the others, with their maybe-magic and their auras, just reiterates that.

Oli aches for him. That existence just seems so incredibly lonely.

The lights of Los Angeles comes into view. He warms at the sight of it, and then wonders in pleasant surprise when he’d started to regard this city as “home.” Eva, too, lets out a tiny sigh of almost imperceptible relief and navigates the way to Nikita and Andrea’s apartment.

Andrea nudges Tyler awake as they pull into the parking lot. He blinks into the dark—it’s almost ten o’clock, now—and his face crashes as he remembers all that’s happened.

Oli feels awful. “I’m sorry, you guys,” he mutters.

Three identical looks of surprise shoot his way. He flushes. “This was a dumb idea,” he tries to explain. “I think maybe we were rushing things.”

“It was going a little too well,” Andrea says dryly. Her voice is hoarse from both the crying and the silence.

Oli shakes his head. “I just wanted us to get along,” he says on a sigh. “I just wanted us to be closer, and trust each other.”

“We did.” Eva’s voice is all venom, and Oli flinches away from her. She closes her eyes, softening her tone. “We did trust each other,” she murmurs. “That’s the entire problem, Oli.”

He deflates completely. There’s no point in arguing.

Andrea gets out of the car. Oli helps her grab her and Nikita’s stuff and haul it up the stairs to their shared apartment. Andrea’s shaking so hard she fumbles for the keys, and Oli reaches out a hand to steady her, making sure to avoid skin-to-skin contact.

She stills, heaving a tremulous breath. “This isn’t fixable, is it?”

“Maybe not for us,” he tells her. “I imagine time might help out, but until then…”

“This is all my fault,” she whispers.

“It’s done.” Oli pats her shoulder. “We can’t erase the past. Can’t fix our mistakes.” He smiles. “That would be cheating.”

Instead of answering, she fits the key into the lock and turns it. The door swings open before she can pull it from the deadlock, and Nikita stands there with burning eyes, bare-faced, in her pajamas and wigless.

The roommates stare at each other for a long, long time. Then Nikita steps aside, and Andrea nearly trips in her relief as she pulls their stuff into the apartment.

Oli stands there looking at their youngest member. She gazes up at him—the height difference is a bit startling, and this is the first time he’s ever seen Nikita look small—and, in a voice way too quiet to be  _ their _ Nikita, she says, “Thank you.”

He wants to reach out and pat her shoulder too, but he values his limbs. Instead he settles for, “It’s going to be all right, Nikita. I promise.”

This gets a sardonic smile from her. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She shuts the door in his face, but not rudely. Oli stands there for another second wishing he could reach the newest survivors, and knowing, too, that she’s right. This is out of his hands.

Eva is stone-faced from where she sits in the driver’s seat. Tyler is also unbearably quiet, a word Oli does not ordinarily associate with his best friend, as they continue along the highway towards their house. Oli watches the night go by out the window, relishing in the lights of the city, mock stars in the darkness. As lovely as nature had been, he’d missed these glass mountains. Everything about Los Angeles is different than London, when he’d been able to visit his own major city (he’s learning, too, that America is  _ incredibly _ big and so people take three hour trips all the time just for fun as opposed to making it a once-yearly excursion), and he can’t say he loves it more than his true home. But it’s growing on him.

Eva knows the way to Tyler’s house like the back of her hand. She pulls into their driveway and parks the car, turning the engine off.

The three of them sit in silence, unsure what to do, or how to break it. Tyler hasn’t moved from his position, and Oli almost worries that he fell asleep again, but eventually he unfolds himself and unbuckles his seatbelt, opening the car door and then swinging around to the trunk.

Oli starts to help him take stuff inside, but Eva catches his elbow when he goes to move. Arching an eyebrow, he sits back, watching her as she stares straight ahead into the night.

“I am—” she starts, haltingly. “I… I was an idiot.”

“Eva—”

“Please let me finish,” she says, closing her eyes for a long moment before facing him. “The problem isn’t what they hid from us, Oli. I’ve thought it through and I understand. The problem is that I  _ let _ them. I… I  _ thought _ that nothing was wrong, that they were okay, that they weren’t hiding anything. I didn’t think to question it, or when I did I thought I was being paranoid. But more than that, I was distracted, and I’d  _ wanted _ to hope that it was okay to take my guard down and want something for myself. But it’s obvious now, with Andrea, and with me, and whatever the rest of us have… we are not safe. And I can’t take my guard down. And I can’t be distracted.”

Her eyes are filling with tears. A bad feeling is stirring in Oli’s gut. “Eva, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I like you a lot,” Eva confesses. “I like you too much. I feel safe with you. I forget. I can’t do that, Oli, not right now.” She turns her face away, and the tears shake loose. They’ve all been crying a lot, haven’t they? “I think I need some space.”

That’s it. That’s what his fear had picked up before he could even think to be wary of it. And he’s been through this enough times to know that he can’t talk her out of this, not when those words are dropped. Oli stills, lets the rest of his breath out as silently as possible. Hurt rips through him, but he clenches his jaw around it. When he’s sure his voice won’t shake, he says, “Of course.”

She must’ve heard it anyway, because she makes a noise halfway between a whine and a sob. Oli leans over, pressing his forehead to her temple. He wants to kiss her cheek, but that isn’t fair to either of them, so instead he whispers, “I’ll wait for you. All right?”

And she nods against him in short, jerky bursts. He’s out the door before the shock of it wears off, bounding up the steps and into the house. Tyler turns to see him closing the front door and sliding down it, placing his head in his hands as he tries to process what just happened.

_ Hurt before it can heal. _ He knows that. He has to believe it’s going to be okay.

Tyler comes and sits next to him, and when his shoulders start shuddering he wraps an arm around them and pulls Oli into his chest.

The two stay like that for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does this world deserve Oli White? all signs point to NO
> 
> also cmon, don't freak out and have some faith in me, yall, I totally know what I'm doing. one hundred percent. ok maybe like.... seventy-five percent.
> 
> Up next: group happens, and so does healing, in its own little way


	21. 20. Andrea - PLEASE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> P - treating Physical iLlness  
> E - balance Eating  
> A - Avoid mood-altering drugs  
> S - Sleep  
> E - Exercise
> 
> (I know, DBT loves their acronyms but this one is a lil ridiculous)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings! last "calm before the storm" chapter, buckle in :)

_Andrea_

It’s twenty-four hours of absolute torture.

Nikita doesn’t come out of her room at all, from what Andrea can tell. To be fair, though, neither does she. Her roommate’s agony is  _ loud _ and Andrea does everything she can to scramble the shields she’d let fall lax in lieu of connecting with her fellow survivors. Nikita’s  _ star- _ bright in her mental vision, painted marigold like dying embers. Andrea’s always thought of her aura as the prettiest, but this stings tears in her eyes when she tries to look.

So she doesn’t look. She shuts herself in her room—it still smells like dust from being used as a storage room for so long—and tries to focus on blocking the memories of her mistakes from completely drowning her.

Such a  _ stupid _ mistake, too, but she’d gotten too comfortable. She’d forgotten. She’s spending too much time with Nikita, long enough to know her thoughts, her memories. Taste the guilt on her tongue like it’s  _ acid. _ Spill all her dirty little secrets. Andrea had expected her to shut her out in the cold, refuse to let her back in after what she did, and it was an accident but kind of an unforgivable one. And Nikita had stepped aside, and as Andrea had passed by her she tasted bittersweet self-loathing, and realized that no matter what Andrea had done, her roommate would always think that what she’d done was worse.

And Andrea should say something to refute that, but she’s caught up in her own self-loathing, so she feels it.

**_you guys still coming?_ ** texts Tyler on Sunday morning, and Andrea swipes her thumb back and forth on the screen of her phone, debating whether she wants to answer. Nikita told her that Matt would say his piece at group, and that she would bite the bullet and tell her whole story too.

She winces to herself.  _ Bite the bullet _ isn’t exactly tactful. Then again neither is hiding in her room for the rest of her life while the latest survivors come under fire from the group. That’s what got her in trouble the first time. And yes she’s afraid, afraid that the others will only see this as a danger to them and their secrets, that what little trust she’s regained is gone in a  _ poof, _ that they want nothing to do with her and if she doesn’t run she’ll be kicked out for sure.

But she owes it to them, too, to be brave enough to take whatever consequences this brings, and if that means losing Nikita’s friendship, and Matt’s, and Tyler’s, too—well, maybe she deserves it.

So she texts Tyler that she will be there, and she gets out of bed feeling creaky and faint and sick to her stomach because she’s eaten nothing but handfuls of cereal and animal crackers and she knows Nikita hasn’t fared much better. And Andrea could barge into her roommate’s room and drag her out and make her socialize, because it’s what they both need, but instead she goes to the kitchen and she starts making breakfast.

The smell of bacon rouses Nikita. She opens her door and peers out, doing an impressive impersonation of an actual, literal zombie with her sunken almond-shaped eyes and her faded-pink brown hair in a disarray. Andrea sets a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast onto the counter at the island for her, and Nikita shuffles to it, her stomach snarling loud enough for Andrea to hear.

Andrea studies her. The bright orange of her aura has dimmed somewhat, no longer blinding but also not her usual brilliance. Mostly she just looks drained. Andrea wonders what color her own aura is, and if it’s dimmed too. She always figured them to be visual representations of the soul, but maybe they have more to do with the mental and emotional state than who they were are people, at their cores. She thinks of Eva’s deep, ocean blue, Oli’s tawny brown, Tyler’s pink so pastel it’s almost white. Looking in the mirror she sees nothing, just like when she looks at Matt, or at any other normal human being. Maybe there’s hope for him, then. Maybe an aura isn’t indicative of whatever powers a person may have.

If she tells him that, maybe he’ll feel better about his place among them, enough to trust them, and  _ tell _ them these things. Andrea can’t blame him for keeping secrets, not when that’s exactly what she’d done and it blew up into this whole mess, but doesn’t he have faith in their character? Tyler’s the softest person she knows, Oli the kindest. Eva will take on the world for you if you’re under her care. Shouldn’t that be enough?

Well. She can’t pretend to know what’s running through Matt’s head at any given moment. She can’t read him like she can read the others.

She makes herself a plate and sits next to her roommate, who’s stirring the eggs around on her own plate. Andrea also doesn’t feel like eating, but she needs to fix her body’s needs before she can even focus on her head. That means self care at its basest form: eating, sleeping, hygiene.

Fixing her charred relationship with her roommate.

Andrea sighs. “Kitkat—”

“D,” Nikita returns in the same tone of voice.

Andrea huffs a breath that puffs out her long bangs. Nobody’s ever really given her a nickname before, but Nikita is not one to be outdone when Andrea started coming up with nicknames for her. She can’t say she hates it, though, because it means Nikita doesn’t hate her like she should. Even now, as annoyed as she wants to be, this just means she’s forgiven.

Still, she says, “I’m sorry.”

“Girl, I  _ know.” _ Nikita rolls her eyes. “Honestly it was gonna come out sooner or later, and unlike Matt, I was  _ not _ planning on sharing this little tidbit anytime soon. So I guess it’s for the best.”

She trails off at the end there and Andrea hears sadness ring from the words. Grief. Guilt. Still so prominent. Andrea reaches over and puts a hand on Nikita’s arm, and the other girl tenses, ready to snap like a string coiled too tight.

Andrea ignores the threat and says, “Who we had to be in the slaughtering isn’t who we are at our cores. You know that, right?”

“But it’s a part of us,” Nikita counters, glancing at her from the corner of her eye. “It ain’t like we don’t have the potential to be that person again. Hell, I don’t think Eva  _ ever _ left that person behind.” She pauses for just a moment, and then admits, “I don’t think Matt did, either.”

“Well,” Andrea muses as she sits back, “we have something now that we didn’t then.”

“If you say “each other,” bitch, I swear to god—”

Andrea smirks. “I was going to say superpowers, actually.”

Nikita laughs long and hard, her aura brightening like a solar flare. The laughter turns into tears halfway through, and Andrea pulls her head to rest sideways on her shoulder as she weeps healing tears for once. She shushes her like she used to do for Tyler, the first month after their slaughtering, before things went terribly wrong. 

Eventually Nikita quiets, her head still on Andrea’s shoulder as Andrea eats her now cooling breakfast. In the silence she says, “Things are gonna be okay, right?”

And Andrea doesn’t shrug, since Nikita is weighing her shoulder down, but she does say, “If it isn’t, we’ll face it together.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Nikita inhales deep and sits up, and she eats her own breakfast, and Andrea, foolishly, starts to hope again.

-

Matt is late.

Andrea can taste the impatience and hurt radiating from Eva the most as the girl paces on the stage, towering over everyone’s heads like a tidal wave. Oli stands still as stone at Andrea’s elbow, his calm face masking the anxiety only Andrea knows is churning in his gut. Tyler has no such qualms and flits about himself, hands flailing this way and that, while Nikita is slumped in the comfy chair next to Matt’s stool, hawklike eyes locked on the door like her partner will cross the threshold any second now.

The silence is palpable. Andrea can almost reach out and clench it in her fist. Matt isn’t known to be late to anything—well, except his streams, that’s a bit of a running joke—so even though Andrea hasn’t known him for very long, she  _ does _ know that this is… out of character.

Eva finally breaks the group’s collective taciturnity ten minutes after four, hissing, “If he’s not even going to have the decency to show up—”

“He’s coming,” Nikita says sharply. “He said he was coming, and he’s going to explain everything.”

“And if he was lying?”

Nikita’s jaw flexes as she clenches it. “Matt doesn’t lie.”

“Withholding information counts as lying, Nikita,” Eva tells her, spinning on her heel to march to the far side of the stage again.

Andrea catches Nikita’s eye as the younger girl goes to argue. Nikita closes her eyes for a second, gathering herself, and when she speaks again her voice is like steel. “You can’t tell me there aren’t things you kept from the group during your slaughtering because it fucked you up and you aren’t over it yet.”

Eva pivots again, towards her this time. “Nothing as drastic as  _ murder _ and  _ resurrection!” _

_ “I didn’t murder him!” _

Andrea blinks as Nikita shoots to her feet, fists gripped, tears shimmering in her eyes. Eva stutters to a stop in surprise as Nikita shouts, “I did my best to keep him alive! The cards were  _ not _ on our side and that  _ isn’t _ my fault! And you can be pissed we kept it from you but don’t  _ ever _ come for us like we did it to harm anyone,  _ especially _ Matt! Matt’s got the biggest fucking heart of anyone I know and he didn’t have to stick with me after the shit I put him through but he  _ did _ and you can catch these fucking hands if you even think about dragging him for that!”

Her chest heaves as she sucks in air, and even Nikita herself looks stunned by the words she just unleashed on their self-proclaimed protector. Eva stares at her as Nikita slumps back into her chair, rubbing her upper arms like she can’t get warm.

Tyler starts to laugh. He claps, the anxiety dissipating for a moment as joy and pride take its place, his aura going from sickly pale to soft, light pink. “That felt good, didn’t it?” he asks Nikita, who shrugs with a small smile tugging at her lips. He turns to Eva. “You wanna counter that?”

Eva pushes a hand through her curls, sitting down cross-legged on the stage. “I know you didn’t keep secrets to harm the group,” she tells Nikita, who stares back at her impassively. “When I’m thinking straight, I know that. But you gotta understand the danger you pose. If I didn’t catch that you were keeping secrets—”

“What?” Nikita interrupts. “What, then? You might have been the first, Eva, but you aren’t the only one who wants to keep us all safe.”

“I was the one to carry my slaughtering,” Eva says, ice cold. “I was the one to put Tyler back together after Andrea broke him.”

Both Tyler and Andrea wince at this, but Eva, with a quick glance at Andrea, soothes the hurt with, “I know now that Andrea didn’t  _ mean _ to, but it happened regardless, and I can’t afford to let anybody else in. Do you understand that?”

“Oh my god, Eva, you’re not  _ Superman!” _ Nikita leans forward in her chair. “You can’t carry the world on your shoulders like this, you’ll  _ break.” _

“I have to!” And, for the first time since Andrea’s known her, desperation spills into Eva’s aura, turning it from deep ocean to murky rain, almost gray in color. “If I don’t you get hurt and I can’t let that happen! I can’t!”

“We get hurt anyway.”

They all turn to Oli, who’s been silent up till now, and Eva flinches like she’s been slapped. From his position next to Andrea and Tyler—far from the stage, where he usually sits to be with Eva, and Andrea wonders at this newfound gulf between the two—his brown eyes are like solid flint as he stares Eva down. Still, his voice is gentle and kind when he says, “Eva, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve always been brave. In the past I’d taken that to mean “fearless,” but that’s not it at all. You’re—”

“Afraid,” she finishes, curling in on herself. “God, yes, I’m always so  _ scared _ of what’s going to happen if I fuck up just once, who could come in and ruin everything, and what happens when the world gets lucky? And I can’t fix it this time?”

“And so it’s easier to just never let anyone in,” Nikita says softly from her chair. “Because if no one gets inside…”

“No one can hurt you,” says Andrea.

Eva wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them to her chest. “This isn’t about me,” she mutters.

“It’s about all of us,” Tyler says. He gestures to Nikita. “It’s about learning how to forgive yourself.” And to Andrea: “About being brave enough to know when to stop running.” And to Eva: “And being brave enough to let people catch you when you fall.”

He points at himself. “It’s about knowing that no matter how you try, a lot of this is out of your hands.” And then, at Oli, “And it’s about loving  _ anyway, _ no matter how many times it backfires on you.”

He turns to the empty doorway, a wistful kind of sadness in his voice as he says, “Trusting yourself, and trusting us, and trusting yourself with us, and trusting us with yourself—these might be heightened for us in particular but they’re what everyone needs to learn to be  _ happy _ in life. So yeah we might have superpowers and Matt’s died once and some weird otherworldly evil bad guy might be after us,  _ again, _ but that doesn’t mean we should lock ourselves away from the world, Eva. “Together” is a two way street. Actually, it’s a six way street.”

“Seven, if you count Joey,” Andrea mutters.

Tyler points at her. “Exactly. So?”

They all look at Eva, who’s staring at the door in muted resignation. The gray has faded back into dark blue, and it swirls around her like water does, at peace with itself once again as she struggles to find the words.

Then she straightens, frowning, and Andrea turns to see a petite, fair-skinned woman with brown hair kept in a tidy side braid standing in the doorway. She’s hefting a baby carrier with her, strength in her wiry arms despite her slim stature, and when she scans brown eyes on the group they hold anxiety and worry and stress, right up until they land on Nikita.

Nikita recognizes her, too. “Stephanie?” she asks, starting to stand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping Matthew would be here,” the woman says, her hand tightening on the handle of the baby carrier.

“He’s not,” Nikita says slowly, and Andrea is suddenly flooded by the alarm growing in every person in the room. “He was late today. Why? What’s wrong?”

Stephanie Cordato-Patrick, Matt’s wife, slumps her shoulders. “He left for a meeting yesterday and didn’t come home. I haven’t seen him since.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay... NOW you can yell at me
> 
> where's the non who called it? *points* you're gonna like the next chapter
> 
> Up next: Matt finally gets the answers he's looking for (unfortunately) and we see the return of a familiar face


	22. 21. Matt - observing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> observing: allowing ourselves to experience our surroundings with awareness and nonjudgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small mentions of panic, small violence warning at the end (let me know if it's too triggering and I will mark them for you)

_Matt_

Matt's lying in a meadow.

It has long, yellowed grass that tickles his cheek. The air smells a floral kind of sweet, and the sky overhead is a clear blue he hasn't seen in a while now.

He's not alone. Sitting next to him, stroking his hair, is a person. They're rather androgynous, with soft features and brown everything—skin and hair, eyes. The robe they’re clad in is ashen gray, and their dark hair is styled in dozens of little braids that hang just over one shoulder. The ruffle of feathers draws his eyes to their wings—shredded and useless, shimmery, shifting colors from green to purple and back again like they’re coated in oil. They're humming, voice deep and rich, familiar even though he knows he's never met this person before in his life.

He should be worried, but he can't help but feel incredibly safe. For the first time in a _long_ time, he finally feels at peace.

Still, his ever-present curiosity stirs. His eyes drift to the young person beside him, and he's asking the question before he can recall feeling the urge to.

“Who are you?”

“You're going to wake up soon.”

“What?”

“I certainly wish I could keep you here,” they muse, as if answering a different question, in a different conversation. “There's going to be a lot of pain, and fear, out there in your reality.”

A chill washes through him. He can't think of the words for a second. “Please,” he says. “Tell me how to—”

“You're very clever, Matthew,” they tell him, very matter-of-fact, and he closes his mouth with a _click,_ “but you need _limits._ You need to know what is and isn't okay to pursue.”

His shoulders hunch as best they can while horizontal. “My mind is all I have.”

“Oh, darling.” Their fingers dance in his hair. “You are worth so much more than that.”

The pull is soothing, like a mother's touch, and he can't explain how he knows, but he's safe here, with them. Even so, he knows he can't stay.

They let their hand drop. “The crystal Joey has,” they say, making him start in surprise, “requires a choice. A price, and a sacrifice. It might be too much to bear. Decide if it's worth it, first. Understand?”

“I understand,” he says, even though he doesn't.

They smile at him. “Open the door, Matthew.”

-

Matt does not wake up screaming, but more than that, he doesn’t wake up in his own bed, in his own room, and that might be more cause for concern.

Oh, and Jetpack Girl is shaking him by the shoulders, fear sheathed behind the grim determination in her hazel eyes and sun bouncing off the blonde in her hair like a halo.

“They found us,” she tells him when he blinks awake.

“How?” he asks as he sits up.

She slides off the king sized bed, still dressed in her steampunk-esque regalia, sans the blaster she had worn under the long brown cloak she’d brought when she met him—yesterday? Matt squints at the sun streaming in through the window, noting its cold light. It must be morning, then, but on what day? And where _are_ they? The room looks lavish and unlived in. There’s dust in every corner. It’s large, the size of a hotel suite but much nicer. On the wall opposite of the bed he’s sitting in, two large, double oak doors tower from floor to ceiling, and the windows on his right let in the pale morning sun, giving him a fantastic view of the courtyard below. Or they would, if it weren’t for the bars criss-crossing over them from the outside.

The pattern on the comforter cover is intricate and lovely, but he can’t really appreciate it knowing he’s been kidnapped. He throws the covers off and notes with dismay that he’s still in the clothes he wore to meet Jetpack Girl—whenever that was. Except they’d taken his shoes. He wrinkles his nose at the thought.

Jetpack Girl is currently studying the bars on the windows, thinking in silence for a moment before answering his question. “I didn’t think that they knew about me, but they must have been planning this for a while. Either you were always the target—”

“Or they knew they had a mole and used me to flush you out,” he finishes the thought, and she flashes him a humorless smile.

“Either way, we’re screwed,” she says. “Door’s locked, windows are barred. Looks like we just wait.”

“You know where we are?” he asks as Jetpack Girl sighs, coming to sit down next to him on the bed.

“Still in Los Angeles,” she answers, running a hand through her sun-streaked hair. “The view from here looks like it’s the bell tower, but I’ve never been up here. I’m just a seeker.”

“A seeker?”

“Yeah, we’re like… entry level SAE. We follow the leylines until we find the discrepancy, then report back.”

“That’s what Shane was?” he guesses, and she sends him a sideways glance.

“Yeah,” she admits finally, exhaling. “I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he was pretty legendary among the other seekers. He just had a way of finding things super fast, even though he was new to it. But yeah, Shane was the one who insisted on attending the party Joey was throwing for his new house from the 1920s. He said he felt the Cursed God’s presence in Joey’s words, but nobody believed him.”

“And look where it got him,” Matt mutters. He pushes a hand through his own hair. “So… the Cursed God knew him, then.”

“Pretty well, I guess. Shane’s responsible for derailing a lot of his plans.” Sorrow saturates her voice and they lapse into silence for a moment as Matt takes in everything that’s happened.

He hadn’t been entirely surprised that his contact hadn’t actually been Joey, when he met Jetpack Girl outside a restaurant near central LA. For one thing, Joey has his number, _and_ his email, and snail mail is so archaic these days.

And, all right, maybe meeting an unknown person at an unknown location after they’d warned him he was being watched wasn’t the best plan Matt’s ever had, but they promised answers, and he’d been kind of sick of being in the dark for so long.

“Walk with me,” she’d said.

She’d introduced herself as Jetpack Girl. He remembered Tyler mentioning someone with that name from his slaughtering, and he’d been inclined to trust her. Even without her jetpack (“Gotta blend in with the times,” she’d explained, with just a hint of a pout on her lips), she’d been exactly who he’d pictured. Still—”Don’t take this the wrong way,” he’d said as they wandered, “but why are you still alive? It’s been like a hundred fifty years.”

“It’s a long story,” she’d told him, and it _had_ been as she explained that she had joined the Society Against Evil when they’d picked her and another girl, Riley, up after Riley had killed the Enchantress who’d caused the Victorian Era slaughtering.

“At first it felt like family,” she’d said wistfully, “especially after the _last_ boss I had. But I started noticing some weird things these past few decades, and when Shane died it was the last straw.”

“He said that the Society couldn’t be trusted,” Matt remembered.

“You talked to him?”

“In a dream, yeah, kind of.”

She’d blown out her bangs with a frustrated breath. “He told a couple of us, the seekers and some helpers, that he thought our leader, Iridessa, was letting the Cursed God’s minions slaughter people. And a week later he’d gone to Joey’s party, and then he was dead. But more than that, three survivors came back, and it made Iridessa _furious.”_

They’d been attacked before he could find out why, or ask who Iridessa is. Matt remembered nothing beyond a bag being pulled over his head, a needle being pushed into his arm, and the slowly dawning realization that he might’ve messed up big time.

And now he’s here. SAE headquarters, in a locked room with a woman he just met—a woman who should, by all means, be dead.

“Ah, sorry,” he says, breaking the silence, “but how is it again that you’re still… alive? And young?”

“Ever hear of the Fountain of Youth?” She smirks when his jaw drops. “We have the next best thing. Iridessa is a Leywalker.”

“One of the conduits," he guesses.

She nods and holds up her hands, wiggling seven fingers. “There are seven major leylines on Earth and they call carry a different element of magic. Or, they did. The magic’s almost all dried up now. But way back in ancient times, the leylines each chose a human to be a conduit for their magic, to protect both the land and the people with it. Iridessa is the last Leywalker left. She’s the Chalice. She has life magic. Every person who gets inducted into the SAE drinks water she infuses with her magic as initiation, and it makes us immortal.” She pauses, a dark expression skittering across her face. “Just in age, though. We can still be killed. Just not by time.”

Matt's mind is going a million miles per hour. “What are the other elements?”

She sends him a quizzical look. “Why? I just told you the other leylines are all dried up.”

“Just humor me.”

Jetpack Girl frowns some more, but she obliges with a shrug. “Well, there’s life, obviously, but also death, psyche, water, air, earth, and fire. They keep each other in balance.”

 _She's the seventh._ He files that away so he can freak out about it later. “And what do you know of gatekeepers?”

Jetpack Girl flinches away from him. “How do you—”

“Shane told me.”

“It’s…” Jetpack Girl hesitates a moment too long. Whatever she would’ve told him is interrupted by the lock in the door turning with a heavy _thunk._ Matt and Jetpack Girl are on their feet immediately as four burly looking men in black robes flood the room, flanking them both as a small woman with pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes passes through the door. She’s dressed in blue, her clothes fine and expensive even though Matt doesn’t know the first thing about what kind of fashion it came from. Physically, she couldn't even be 25, but Matt could tell just by looking that she was much, _much_ older.

“Matthew,” she says warmly, in a musical kind of voice with an accent he can’t place. “It is so good to finally meet you in person. I apologize if the transportation was a little… rough.”

“Rough?” Matt echoes. “You kidnapped us.”

“I needed to speak to you,” she corrects. “Discreetly, as they say. I have a proposition for you, my friend.”

“Cut the crap,” he tells her, glaring. “I know you only brought me here because I was getting too close to uncovering your little operation. Iridessa, right?”

“Ah.” She smiles. “They said you were clever.”

He mimics her expression back at her, no teeth. “It’s my only redeeming quality.”

Jetpack Girl, who’d been silent up till now, finally speaks up. “Whatever you’re thinking, Iridessa, Matt won’t go through with it,” she says. “We know the truth now, and you can’t silence him.”

Iridessa turns that smile to the younger girl, but something about it has changed into something colder. Sharper. “I think he can be persuaded,” she says lightly. “Now, come along. We have much to discuss.”

-

The compound is… very big.

Matt tries not to look like he’s cataloging every exit, every barless window and every staircase that could lead to the outside world, but the more he notices the more hopeless he feels. The two of them are led down a spiral staircase and out into a courtyard that looks more like it belongs to a fort than a church. Four towering walls box the buildings in, so even with the morning sun peeking through the wispy clouds in the sky above him, Matt feels completely and utterly trapped.

The courtyard is empty as they cross it. Matt tucks his shaking hands into his jeans, glowering at Iridessa’s back. “How many members of the society know what you’re doing?”

She tosses him another beatific smile over her shoulder. “You won’t find friends here, if that’s what you’re wondering. Everyone who drinks from my chalice falls under my control, and these warriors here have drunk thrice. They are as loyal as they come."

Matt casts a glance at Jetpack Girl, who looks startled at this revelation. His mouth goes dry. "You let Jetpack Girl find me, didn't you?"

And Iridessa laughs, the sound bell-like and bouncing off the tall walls. "Clever child," is all she says.

They cross into the building opposite of the bell tower, and two of the guards suddenly grasp Jetpack Girl by the elbows and drag her in an opposite direction.

“Hey—” Matt starts to say, lunging forward to help, but strong hands grab his biceps in bruising grips, and an arm snakes around his neck, and then he’s being dragged backwards, away from her.

Matt’s vision whites out completely. The pressure on his neck is brutal, the Strongman’s fingers digging into the soft skin there, and he’s being pushed, pushed backwards, down to the ground, tears streaming down his face as he fights to get a breath out, and the lights of the Ferris wheel are dancing around his vision as he stares up at the night sky, and he thinks of Stephanie—

“Matthew.”

He snaps back to reality. Here, in 2018. He’s been shoved into a chair, gasping for breath and clawing at his neck like he can still feel the Strongman’s fingers there. And he’s crying, too, blinking from the flashback as he looks around the room he’s in.

Iridessa is watching him with an expression of plastic sympathy, the kind he’s seen on many a therapist’s face when they couldn’t figure out what to do with him. Matt curls his fingers on the arms of the chair he’s sitting in, trying to quell his shaking and reorient himself.

The room looks like a study, or an office, and Iridessa sits behind a pretty, large oak desk, hands folded in front of her. Behind her are two bookcases with glass doors, and when Matt twists behind him he can see the floor to ceiling oak door they came in from, and the two guards who’d dragged him in here.

He turns back to Iridessa, flushing with shame, and anger, because anger is easier. “Where did you take her?” he growls.

Iridessa leans forward. “I’d really more like to talk about that interesting reaction you just had.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he snaps.

“Ah, but I think there is.” She stands, and walks towards him in a way that makes him lean back in the chair. “You’re the one causing all the trouble, hm?” She circles him the same way a shark would when hunting. “Matthew Patrick. The boy who lived.”

“That’s Harry Potter,” Matt corrects, but the deflection is weak and she knows it.

“And don’t you both have so much in common,” she muses, coming back around into his line of vision. “Given second chances only to bring about the end of the world in the process. Is it worth it?”

Matt swallows, wondering distantly how an ancient Leywalker knows so much about pop culture. “What do you mean, end of the world?”

“Oh come on now, Matthew,” she scolds gently, and he really wishes she would stop calling him that, “let's not lie to each other. You’ve seen the signs. Evil is stirring. Your friends are gaining magic, are they not?” She gestures to the ceiling. “This is the most sun we’ve had in quite some time. Even the Earth knows the end times are approaching.”

“I kind of thought that was due to climate change.”

She smiles at him. “So brave. The ego of man, to think he deserves life even at the cost of everyone else on the planet.”

Matt closes his eyes, trying to block out the stories he's read in his research, the ones claiming... "I didn't ask to be brought back."

"And I never asked to be a gatekeeper, and yet here we are."

His eyes fly open. "Gatekeeper?"

“Oh? So you mean you haven’t figured everything out yet.” Iridessa makes her way back to the desk, sitting in the desk chair there that looks a lot more comfortable than the wooden one Matt had been shoved into. “Well, your notes were a bit difficult to follow. The ravings of a madman, one who didn’t know any better would think.”

“You’ve seen my notes?” A chill washes over him. “You’ve been in my house.”

“You’re so close,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s commendable, honestly. I wish I’d known about you ages ago, and maybe we could’ve avoided this entire situation. But no, Joey Graceffa had to drag you along with his little plan to cheat, and now the apocalypse has moved up in schedule, and none of us are prepared.”

Matt grinds his teeth. “What are you saying?”

Iridessa gazes at him. She leans back in her chair. “I am very old, Matthew,” she says. “I was there when magic was in every living thing. I was the youngest among my generation’s Leywalkers. They treated me like the child I was, and I didn’t realize the true gravity of the Cursed God’s evil until they were all dead, and I was the last one standing.

“You are like me in your ignorance, and your hope. You haven’t met him, Matthew, and I have. I have stared evil in the eyes and watched as it took everything from me, and still I was brave enough to do what needed to be done.”

“You made him a deal.”

She smiles, but something is wrong with it. “I  _stalled._ Locked him away where his influence is minimal, the lock a game that requires sacrifices, a hundred human lives. He sends his minions, I send my members, and we see who comes out on top. At first, it was easy. His minions were weak, and I can keep my members alive with my life magic. But without Leywalkers, the other leylines began to wither. I had to figure out a way to get an edge. And then I realized that I can siphon power from the minions he sends. I realized the more sacrifices they make, the stronger they are, and the more power I can get from them.”

Matt stares at her, feeling like he’s been sucker-punched. “So you… you let them kill people? So you can leech the power from them right before they could reach their hundredth sacrifice?”

“And it would reset, yes,” she says, pleased that he’s following. “And I would get the power, and after centuries of this, Matthew, I am stronger than any living being on Earth, and it _still_ isn’t enough. And now, thanks to you, I no longer have the time to continue collecting sacrifices. Thanks to Joey cheating, and bringing you back, he’s weakened the seal and it’s only a matter of time before it snaps completely. I’m saying, Matthew, that your resurrection gave the Cursed God the jumpstart he needed to regain his power over the land.” And this time when she smiles, he can see the bitterness it’s edged in. “He’s coming back. Soon. There will be a battle unlike anything you can possibly conceive. And with the way we are now, we’re going to lose.”

Matt’s heart plummets to his toes. This is it, then. Confirmation. She really is their seventh, and he's a walking, talking, breathing mistake. A cheat. A cheat with _consequences._

Iridessa nods. “And now you understand the gravity of the situation. But don’t worry, I have a solution.”

“What could possibly fix this?” It comes out in a horrified whisper, but Matt’s too tired, too thrown, to be ashamed of it.

“Your friends,” she says, pulling his eyes back to her. “The survivors Shane Dawson saved. They’re Leywalkers. I can feel it. Their magic is awakening.”

 _Andrea, psyche._ Matt’s head reels, connecting dots he hadn’t even realized he’d collected over the months he's known his new friends. With the colors of their auras Andrea'd described to him, with the element they're most comfortable in: _Nikita, fire. Eva, water. Oli, earth. Tyler—air? And that makes Joey death._

“I need them,” she continues. “I am a lot more powerful than I used to be, and I’m immortal, you see. I have lent the magic I've siphoned to my warriors, giving them weapons beyond their wildest dreams, but it isn't enough. I need the other leylines. My body can house all seven within me. With their magic, I might be able to defeat the Cursed God.”

“Wait, what?” Matt blinks, startled out of his revelation. “You want to siphon their magic too? But won’t that—”

“Kill them?” She stares him down, blue eyes unyielding like cobalt. “Yes, of course, but there is no other option. They’re untrained, and _young,_ while I am both familiar with this magic and capable of wielding it. I don’t think you understand, Matthew, this war is coming. It’s coming _soon._ As soon as that seal breaks we will be out of time. This needs to happen now.”

Matt shakes his head. “I won’t let you do this.”

“Oh Matthew. You don’t have a choice. Besides.” She smiles again at him, and Matt thinks that for someone who supposedly wants to save the world, he’s never met anyone more cruel. “I have much bigger plans for you.”

The guards grab him again, though this time they leave his neck alone. Matt can’t find it in him to be grateful as he struggles, fighting with everything he has as they drag him out, Iridessa still smiling at him like she doesn’t know how to stop.

They haul him back to the bell tower, tossing him in and locking the door behind him. Matt stumbles over Jetpack Girl, lying curled in a ball—bloody and bruised and battered.

“Oh, god—” He kneels next to her, and her eyes flutter when he runs his fingers over her face, checking for breaks.

“Fuckin’ bastards,” she slurs, and he laughs breathlessly, because it reminds him of Nikita.

“What did they do to you?”

“Roughed me up a bit. Think I was the _persuasion_ she was talking about.” She winces as he helps her sit up, hand going to her many aches. “Ah, I feel like shit,” she groans.

Matt worries his lip as he looks her over. “Do you think you can run?”

“Hell yeah,” she says immediately, “why?”

He smiles and dangles the key he’d grabbed from one of the guards before they’d shoved him in here. “Because I have a plan.”

His friends might hate him right now, and he might be responsible for the return of the greatest evil the world has ever known, but it’s never been in his nature to give up. The mysterious angel-like person from his dream flashes in his mind’s eye, their voice like wooden windchimes in his memory. _You need to know what is and isn’t okay to pursue._

Well, he doesn’t know what’s okay anymore, but he isn’t going down without a fight.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (jetpack is one word :o)
> 
> *stares at this chapter*  
> *rewrites outline for the next six chapters* welp, this derailed my entire plan for the climax of this, whoops, but how's that for a reveal? :D who all caught the others' powers? be honest. they're pretty obvious if you look :P
> 
> and now! we have SOME answers, and a whole lot more questions, but that's what makes it fun :) oh btw some of yall might recognize this mysterious person from certain other stories of mine, but a) this has nothing to do with ETNMystic's universe and b) it's probably not what you're thinking... probably
> 
> Up next: Eva's finally on the receiving end of not being trusted and realizes a couple things in the process, and the group realizes Matt's in deeper trouble than any of them could've imagined


	23. 22. Eva - participating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> participating: being present while engaging in activity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings except that it's a filler chapter :c

_ Eva _

This isn’t happening, Eva thinks.

She thinks it all the way to Matt’s house. She drives on autopilot, following Stephanie, Matt’s wife—they’ve known Matt for months, why have they never met his wife?—all the way across town. Her car is silent as she’s the only one in it. Andrea drove Nikita, and Oli opted to ride with Tyler, and that’s her fault because she’d asked for space but she hadn’t meant it so literally… right?

She can’t stand the sudden ocean between them. It’s like he’s grown cold and that’s not right, she’s supposed to be the wary one, she’s supposed to be the one they know they can trust because she doesn’t trust so easily, that’s the whole point. And he’s drawn away from everyone, not just her, she can feel it. She wonders if she’s hurt him, and can’t really fathom why.

Matt’s house is quaint and lovely. Eva gets there second, as she’d been right behind Stephanie, but she’s the last to get out of her car. Her fingers tap a rhythm on the steering wheel as she stares up at the house from the curb, trying to squash that tiny bit of hope bubbling in her chest that Matt’s actually in there somewhere waiting for them, and he has the mother of all explanations, and he’s fine and whole and not in any danger whatsoever. She’ll be furious of course, but mostly for show, mostly just to mask the sheer amount of relief that would bring, and why would it bring relief anyway?

Because Matt’s her friend, she realizes with a heavy sigh. Secrets and all, Matt’s her friend and she loves him and she wants him safe, and that’s why she snapped so harshly at Nikita, too, because Nikita’s her friend and she loves her and she wants her safe, and so she can’t be mad, not really. She’s too tired.

It’s Tyler who draws her from the safety of her car, with its comfort of denial, knocking on her window with a grim smile. She wonders how he’s taking this. If Matt had just taken off—no, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that, he has a wife and a kid, he has Nikita, he has the group. Eva might not know him as well as she thought she did but she knows he wouldn’t up and leave all of that behind, not without giving them an explanation.

It’s been 25 hours now since Stephanie said he’d left, so yes. They should be worried. 

She climbs out. Everything kind of feels like it’s on autopilot, and Eva knows she should be paying attention, so she focuses on how cold the wind feels against her skin, on how the clouds had rolled in so quickly despite the morning starting off sunshine-y and promising new beginnings, or at least a wrap up of loose and frayed endings. She counts each step up to the house, notes how the light spills into the foyer, and waits for Stephanie to speak.

Stephanie hefts her baby carrier—apparently a whole lot stronger than she looks—and peers at each of them in turn. Eventually she turns to Nikita, the only one she’s met before, and says, “Before I show you this, what has he told you?”

“Nothing,” she starts to say, and then frowns halfway through the word, giving a quick glance at the others. Then, under her breath, she says, “Oh to hell with it. He’s been having nightmares.”

“Of his death?”

The silence that falls feels kinda like a vacuum sucked out all the air. Eva’s ears even pop, and she sees Andrea toss an alarmed glance in Tyler’s direction. “How did you know about that?” she demands before she can really think it through. “Did he tell you?”

“Of course not,” Stephanie replies, an edge in her voice. “But I’ve heard him talk in his sleep, I’ve held him as he clung to me when he woke, and I’m not an idiot. I can put two and two together.” She takes a deep breath, settling Ollie’s carrier on the floor. The baby is still asleep, thankfully. Stephanie squares her shoulders and purses her lips. “He did tell me what happened during his slaughtering, though.”

Nikita sighs and raises her hand. “I also told Gabby,” she mutters.

Eva glances about her in disbelief. “Did anybody else spill the whole story?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Stephanie says, cutting her off. “Nikita, you and I both know he’s been having nightmares.”

“Yeah, well.” Nikita rubs her arms like she’s suddenly cold. “I thought they would stop after the hypnosis session—”

“Hypnosis session?” Tyler echoes.

“Yeah, he wanted to remember what his dream was.” She frowns. “He said there was something he was forgetting during the dream, and he walked me through hypnotizing him.”

“When was this?” Eva asks.

Nikita frowns. “Maybe a month ago?” at the same time Stephanie says, “It would’ve been a month ago.”

At Nikita’s surprised look, Stephanie shrugs and says, “Before that, he would just come back to bed after waking up. Now he goes downstairs. That’s what I want to show you.”

She picks the baby carrier up again with the skill of a mother who knows how not to wake her baby and leads them through hallways until they get to a room in the corner of the house. The door is closed tightly, and Stephanie turns to face them when she reaches it.

“I’ve been giving him space,” she says, and Eva barely manages to contain her flinch, “because I figured he’d come to me when he was ready. I’d hoped he was just out clearing his head or following some lead when he didn’t come home last night, but when I woke up this morning and he still wasn’t here, I… I panicked.” She closes her eyes. “This isn’t the first time this has happened, after all, but it’s only been six months, if it’s going to happen again it won’t be now. That doesn’t follow the pattern. But I wasn’t really thinking about that. I tried pinging his phone, but it’s off, and I decided to figure out what was going on before I called the police again.”

She takes a deep breath and opens the door. Eva lingers back with Stephanie as the others flood into the small room, each emitting small gasps as they take it in. When she steps into the room, she sees it too: multiple whiteboards with almost illegible handwriting scratched across the surface; papers strewn about the room, on the coffee table in front of the couch, on the table in the corner, on the floor even. Questions are circled and underlined and bolded and Eva can just make them out: WHAT IS THE CRYSTAL? and WHO IS THE SOCIETY AGAINST EVIL? And beneath each question is a series of  _ what ifs _ and theories and the potential evidence to back up said theories.

It’s silent for a long time as they all peruse the notes Matt left. Stephanie stands in the doorway watching them. Eva’s hands are shaking as she squints, trying to read the list of auras attached to each of their names. “What was he doing?”

“I don’t know,” Nikita murmurs, sounding more shaken than Eva’s ever heard her. “He wouldn’t tell me what he saw during the hypnosis session. He told me he didn’t remember anything.”

_ He lied. _ Eva’s heart sinks and she drops the papers she’d been holding. “Why would he keep this from us?” She just manages to keep her voice under a shout so as not to wake the baby. “Why would he do this?”

“This might be why,” Oli says quietly from the corner. He’s flipping through a spiral bound notebook, not looking up at the others. Clearing his throat, he reads,  _ “If the Society has intentionally failed to save anyone during previous slaughterings, Oli, Eva, and Joey might be targets for being the first. Be sure to warn them once enough evidence is gathered to support this theory.” _

Eva feels like she’s been hit between the eyes. “Targets? But—why? Shane was part of the Society—”

“Shane’s the one who told him,” Oli interrupts, looking directly at her for the first time in days. “His dream is outlined in here. When he—” He glances, lightning quick, at Stephanie. “When he died, he met Shane in the afterlife. He told him not to trust the Society Against Evil, and something about a crystal being a trap, and Joey being a gatekeeper for something.”

“Does anybody know what crystal he’s talking about?” Eva looks around the room at everyone, and they shake their heads.

Nikita, though, frowns as she thinks about it. “Well—I mean, this is a long shot, but the Carnival Master had a big ass blue crystal in his chest. It might be that? But we left it when we—”

She stutters to a stop, eyes wide. “What?” Eva asks, heart pounding at the expression on her face.

“Joey stayed behind,” she says. “He told us he was just going to do something real fast, and we got separated. I haven’t seen him since he got back.” 

“You think he grabbed this crystal, then?” Oli paws through the notebook. “Here he says that Shane called the crystal a trap, and that something, he thinks the crystal, can’t be unlocked without gatekeepers.”

“What’s a gatekeeper?” It comes from Stephanie, still in the doorway, and they turn to her.

Tyler rubs at his eyes behind his glasses. “Whatever it is, Joey’s one of them. Maybe we need to talk to Joey. Is that who he was going to meet, Stephanie?”

She purses her lips. “I doubt it. It’s not like the invitation he got last time. Here—” And she pulls out a letter from her purse and hands it to Tyler. As he examines it, she says, “I called the restaurant and they said they never saw him. That’s when I decided to come find you guys. I pinged your phone,” she tells Nikita, who arches her brows at her. “Well, I know I wasn’t supposed to know about the slaughtering, I didn’t want to explain until I knew it was time to panic.”

Tyler hands the letter to Eva, face grim. “I think it’s safe to say it’s time to panic.”

Eva studies the letter. It’s handwritten, but not Joey’s script, and it’s signed with initials as opposed to an actual name. “I think Tyler’s right, Joey needs to be the next person we talk to. Anybody have his new number?”

Andrea, who’d been studying the board that has their names on it, speaks up then. “No, but I have Daniel’s.”

Eva blinks. “Why?”

“He called me. Weeks ago, when—” She winces. “When the Psychic Twins, ah, dragged me, basically. He wanted to know if I was okay. He didn’t say anything about Joey, though.” She trails off, brow furrowing. “Actually, the conversation was kind of weird. He wanted to know why I seemed so convinced the Psychic Twins were fake.”

“Did you tell him?” Stephanie asks, intense gaze locked on the younger girl.

“Of course not.” Andrea shakes her head. “He didn’t push, just told me I would be okay. He kind of implied that I should meet back up with you, Tyler.”

“Daniel must know,” Tyler murmurs. “We should call him, then. Maybe he knows where Matt is, or if not Matt then Joey.”

Eva frowns. “If he doesn’t know, and we ask about Joey—”

“I know.” He looks past her, to Stephanie, who’s tugging on her side braid and trying to look less worried than she has to be with her husband missing,  _ again. _ “But we have to do something. If this ties in with the slaughterings, we can’t contact the police, not yet. We have to figure this out, first.”

Andrea pulls out her phone. Tyler’s staring at the boards as Oli flips through the notebook and Nikita slumps on the couch. Eva watches all of this with an aching, heavy feeling in her gut as she takes in Matt’s weeks of work. “Why wouldn’t he tell us about this?” she asks again, reaching for an answer. “This is… he’s looked  _ so _ bad for so long, why would he hide this?”

“I mean, wouldn’t you be scared?” Nikita doesn’t look at her, her eyes on Tyler but her gaze a million miles away. “It’s not like we were doing great, either. You and me weren’t talking, and after that you and Andrea weren’t talking. Tyler was a fucking mess, and Oli and I were messes trying to keep the peace. And we all went to him, demanding he fix us.”

Oli slowly closes the notebook. “He never said anything.”

“He wouldn’t, would he?” Nikita’s fingers curl into fists. “This group came so close to not working so many times, why should he trust us with this? Why would he add on one more thing? You guys don’t  _ know _ him. He doesn’t let himself fall to pieces. I only ever saw it once and I  _ deserved _ it and he pulled himself together in minutes, because he knew we couldn’t be fighting, not if we wanted to survive.”

“She’s right,” Stephanie says. They turn to see frustrated tears in her brown eyes. “He’s always been that way. He never wants to let me in on what he’s working on when he  _ needs _ the help. He doesn’t know how to ask for it, or how to recognize that he needs it.”

“But he was going to tell us,” Oli says, sounding lost. “That’s what he said, isn’t it? He was going to tell us after the trip.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Nikita gets up, her eyes alight with suppressed hurt and anger. “It’s too late, and we’re here now, and we can yell at him when we get him back. We just need to get him back first.”

Eva can’t really breathe. She feels like she’s underwater again, and everything is cold and slow, as it really, really sinks in that Matt, for whatever reason, kept all of this inside. All of the fear and the slowly building suspicion that they might be in danger, that the people they trusted lied to them, that this might not be over. It just... it feels so  _lonely._ He’s had his nightmares for months and months even still and Eva can’t imagine experiencing your death over and over again and then  _ not _ talking to someone about it. Isn’t that what group is for? Talking this stuff out? Isn’t that what they’re here for? What about them made Matt feel like he wasn’t safe with them?

Her breath catches as she thinks,  _ Was it me? _

“Daniel? Daniel!”

Andrea’s frantic voice draws their attention as she holds her finger in her ear on one side and her phone to the other. Not getting an answer she hangs up, calls again, and waits as the phone goes straight to voicemail. She pulls the phone from her ear and catches Eva’s gaze, eyes wide.

“We need to get to Joey’s,” she starts to say—

—only to be interrupted by the sound of glass breaking. Everyone freezes, Stephanie holding out an arm. More noises follow from the front door, and Stephanie gives the baby carrier to Oli’s outstretched hand without even really looking, creeping forward to glance into the kitchen.

Eva follows her and only catches a glimpse of a figure in dark robes before Stephanie is easing the door shut and gesturing for them to open the window that leads around the back. Tyler and Andrea tiptoe their way to the window, drawing the curtains back as quietly as they can and unlatching it.

“Stephanie Patrick!”

Stephanie jumps at the voice, and Eva locks a hand on her bicep, both to offer comfort and to pull her back from the door. The voice is male and accented but not in a way Eva can place as it booms through the house.

“We’re not here to hurt you!” it continues. “We just want to bring you to your husband!”

Stephanie grinds her teeth and Eva, despite herself, resists the urge to grin. She likes this woman.

Tyler and Andrea lift the window up and it squeaks just enough that they all go deathly still, waiting. A beat passes, and then—

Noise. Eva and Stephanie both stifle screams as the door thumps and then rattles. Oli hands his younger name twin to Andrea and shoves the couch up against the door, and Eva and Stephanie step out of the way to let him barricade it.

“That won’t hold them,” he says grimly as Tyler shoves the window the rest of the way up. “We gotta go.”

Stephanie doesn’t argue, but there’s anger in every step as she strides to the window and climbs out. The rest of them follow, Andrea handing her Ollie back when she reaches for him, and she leads them around the far side of the house and to the cars in the driveway.

“Shit,” Nikita snarls as Stephanie pulls up short. Eva, trailing behind to make sure they aren’t followed, peers over their heads and swallows the urge to curse too, seeing two big black SUVs blocking the driveway.

“I parked on the street,” she says, pushing ahead. “Come on, it’s big enough for all of us.”

No one shoots at them as they make their way to the street and into Eva’s minivan. Tyler sits in shotgun, Andrea and Nikita in the middle row, and Stephanie and Oli in the way back. Eva closes her eyes as the stray thought of feeling like a mountain exists between her and Oli now and shoves it away to focus on what’s going on right here, right now. She tears out of there, praying to whatever god was out there that the people in the house would stay in the house until they were long gone.

Or at least until they got to Joey’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that contemporary is just consistently fillers one after the other but I get bored without some action yknow? still, these next few chaps are going to be, uh, a Lot Of Talking. what do they call that again? hurry up and wait?
> 
> Up next: Tyler stars in his own radio drama, sort of. Also, it's (almost) a full blown reunion, and Joey has some serious explaining to do.


	24. 23. Tyler - describing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> describing: labeling emotions as emotions, thoughts as thoughts and sensations as sensations, without adding judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings but it's looooooong and nothing but talking, part one

_ Tyler _

“Will you  _ put that away?” _ Tyler shrieks.

Eva throws him a heated glance over her shoulder. “Tyler! I’m trying to drive here!”

“I’m trying not to get my eye poked out!” he shouts back, ducking as Joey manages to yank the dagger from Daniel’s flailing grip.

“Baby,” he says, giving the dagger to Tyler so he can grip both sides of Daniel’s face, “babe, I need you to calm down, we’re safe now—”

“Hold on!” Eva yanks the steering wheel to the right and they take a turn sharper than the dagger that almost killed Tyler about thirty seconds ago. Behind them, in Eva’s van, Andrea takes the left instead, leaving the black SUV to barrel past them.

Eva slumps her shoulders. “Holy shit,” she says, trembling, slowing down a little bit now that they aren’t being followed. She glances at them through her rearview mirror. “Is he okay?”

“Been better,” Daniel groans. Joey’s still crouched over him and gives a breathless laugh.

“You’re bleeding, honey, I think that’s accurate,” he says.

“Why do you even have a dagger anyway?” Tyler demands, slumping back. “A dagger? Like some medieval shit, seriously?”

“Saved your life, didn’t it?” Daniel shoots back.

“And almost took it, thank you!”

“Tyler,” Eva chides him, and Tyler heaves a deep breath. He points the hilt of the dagger at Joey.

“What the hell is going on!”

“It’s a long story,” Joey says. He grins at Tyler. “You look good, though.”

And Tyler hadn’t realized how  _ good _ it is to see Joey, alive and in the flesh and beaming at him with his ultra white, megawatt grin, pointy teeth and all. He makes a small noise that gets buried in Joey’s shoulder when he throws his arms around him in a crushing hug, mindful of the dagger in his hand.

“Hey,” Daniel complains.

Joey ignores him, clinging back to Tyler just as hard. “I’m sorry, Ty,” he says, resting his chin on Tyler’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, for everything.”

“Apologize for going radio silent on us!” Tyler scolds as he pulls away. “It’s been six months, Joey!”

Joey and Daniel exchange looks, but the shrill ring of a cell phone interrupts any incoming explanation. Oli, sitting next to Eva in the passenger seat, digs into his jeans and pulls out his cell phone. “Nikita?” he answers, and then winces, pulling the phone away from his ear.

Tyler can hear her tinny little voice even from the back of the SUV, and then louder when Oli puts her on speaker.  _ “We lost them but I don’t know for how long! What do we do!” _

“We need a place to lay low,” Eva says, brow furrowing in the rearview mirror. “They obviously know where we live.”

_ “Yeah, no shit,”  _ Nikita shoots back. A bit fainter comes Stephanie’s voice, asking a question Tyler can’t make out. Nikita says,  _ “Oh yeah, that makes sense. If they were at your place and Joey and Daniel’s place at the same time—” _

“—then this is an organized attack, not just them making sure no one can report Matt missing,” Eva finishes, lips thinning. “If they’re after all of us, we can probably assume they know where all of us live.”

Oli casts a glance to the back, where Joey has returned to pressing his jacket to the gash on Daniel’s back. “This doesn’t negate the fact that we need to get Daniel medical attention,” he reminds them.

“I’m fine,” Daniel calls. Everyone ignores him.

“They’ll find him if we take him to the hospital,” Joey argues.

Oli glares at him. “None of us know first aid and he’s  _ bleeding out _ in the SUV we stole from the bad guys, I hardly think this is the time to be picky!”

“Guys—”

“I don’t think you understand how far the Society’s reach extends,” Joey returns hotly. “These guys have magic, or don’t you remember that?”

“Guys, seriously,” Daniel tries again, and Tyler pats his shoulder.

“We can go to The Living Room,” he suggests.

Eva almost turns around in her seat to stare at him before remembering that she has to drive.  _ “What?” _

“It’s Sunday,” he explains. “If we hurry we can make it before they close. Myling will let us stay there and we can figure out how to take care of Daniel and formulate a game plan to get Matt back.”

“I knew I should’ve answered that dang email,” Joey mutters to himself.

Tyler looks at Oli, who shrugs, looking at Eva. She huffs a sigh.

“I don’t like the idea of involving any more normal people, Tyler,” she says.

“Myling isn’t exactly who I’d call normal.”

A small smile flits across her lips. “Fair enough. Nikita, you get that?”

_ “Meet up at the coffeeshop? Yeah, but—shit, Andrea, turn!” _

There’s a squeal of tires over the line and they all stiffen as the girls in the other car scream. Ollie the baby adds to the din as he finally wakes up, and the group in the SUV all hold their breaths until Nikita crows,  _ “Okay holy shit, D, remind me to hire you as my getaway driver in case I ever need to rob a bank.” _

_ “Duly noted,” _ Andrea says, sounding amused.  _ “Everybody okay?” _

There’s a chorus of yeses from the others and the group in the SUV all relax collectively. “What happened?” Eva demands.

_ “We almost ran this crazy chick over. No, D, don’t get out, she could be a murderer—” _

_ “Oh my god,” _ Andrea says, and there’s a lot more commotion over the line as Eva navigates her way to The Living Room. Tyler kind of feels like he’s listening to a radio drama as he tries to pick out who’s saying what on the other end of the phone.

Well, he’s also kind of living a radio drama himself, considering everything they’ve been through in the past two hours. Discovering Matt was missing was one thing, but fleeing Society members from his and Stephanie’s house only to stumble onto another attack upon arriving at Joey and Daniel’s is a whole other story. Not to mention Daniel had been  _ fighting _ them off with the wicked sharp dagger Tyler now has in his possession, and fighting like he’d been trained with it to boot, stepping in to block one burly masked man with the blade when he lunged towards Tyler.

Unfortunately the bad guys had weapons too, and Tyler had decided that flight might be a better idea when said attacker took a chunk out of Daniel’s side and back in retaliation. He, Eva, and Oli had managed to drag Joey and Daniel along with them, hopping into the still-running black SUV parked in Joey’s driveway, and gotten the hell out of dodge, peeling after Andrea, Nikita, Stephanie, and baby Ollie in Eva’s van.

Maybe less a radio drama and more an action movie, then.

Andrea’s voice comes back on the line.  _ “Tyler, Joey—it’s Jetpack Girl.” _

“What?” they chorus together, exchanging startled glances.

“She’s part of the Society,” Daniel offers, his voice getting more and more strained. “She’s a seeker.”

Tyler’s heart sinks. “Does that mean she’s evil?”

Daniel shakes his head. “No, she’s—she’s like me. Like Shane. I remember her...” He trails off, screwing his eyes shut against the pain. Joey shushes him, casting a glance at Tyler that clearly states  _ we can talk about this later. _

_ “She looks like shit, you guys,” _ Nikita says, minute amounts of worry leaking through her voice.  _ “You okay, chica?” _

They have to strain to listen, but just barely, Jetpack Girl’s voice drifts through.  _ “Society… Society has Matt.” _

Nikita snorts.  _ “Yeah, sis, we been knew that already—” _

Eva hushes her. “Andrea?”

_ “I trust her with my life,” _ she says immediately, and Tyler nods when Eva meets his eyes in the mirror.

She sets her jaw. “All right then. We’ll meet at The Living Room, and go from there.”

Tyler looks at Joey, who’s busy brushing Daniel’s hair with his bloodied fingers. He wonders if he even notices. “We’re going to need some answers,” he tells him, and Joey raises his head to meet his eyes, more solemn than he’s ever seen him.

“I’ll explain everything,” he says.

-

Myling is the purest soul on Earth and Tyler would marry her on the spot were she, like, thirty years younger and also a dude.

They arrive a little after closing, but the second Myling lays eyes on them she ushers them inside, leading them to the piano room. Daniel lets Jetpack Girl take the couch—she’s clearly out of it, eyes glazed and rolling, skin hot to the touch—and sits on the comfort chair Nikita usually claims, careful not to get blood on the material. Myling hurries in with a first aid kit and a curt, “I have skateboarding grandchildren, Tyler, let me take a look.”

Daniel was right—the slash he’d taken to the back and side isn’t deep and had stopped seeping blood on the way to the coffeeshop. Joey holds his hand as Myling cleans and wraps it, whispering assurances while the others linger between him and the unconscious Jetpack Girl. Stephanie had taken Ollie to another room to feed him, making Joey promise to wait until she’s done to begin explanations.

Tyler kneels next to Jetpack Girl, brushing her blood-streaked blonde hair from her bruised eyes. “These bruises look like fingers,” he says in a low voice, brushing his fingertips on the purple lining her neck.

“They beat the shit outta her.” Nikita crosses her arms from where she stands behind the couch, her brown eyes sparking in barely tempered anger. “If they do this to their own people—”

Oli puts a hand on her shoulder. “Matt will be fine,” he promises.

“You know that, huh?” She shrugs him off, turning her back to them as she stares out the window at the darkened street. “It’s seven o’clock and I ain’t stupid enough to think we have any hope of launching a rescue tonight, which means Matt has to spend  _ another _ night with those people.” Her breath catches, shoulders hunching. “He probably thinks we hate him, that we’re not even coming.”

Joey looks up from where he’s holding Daniel’s hand. “Wait,  _ another _ night?”

“He went missing yesterday,” Stephanie says from the doorway. She has Ollie in an Ergo, strapped to her stomach so she can come in and sit down next to Daniel on the stool ordinarily reserved for Matt. The baby’s awake and cooing, his wispy blonde hair tucked beneath a beanie and curious brown eyes surveying Daniel and Joey as Myling moves on to Jetpack Girl.

Joey, meanwhile, frowns. “Maybe it would be better if you guys tell us what you know first.”

And so, as Myling clicks her tongue at Jetpack Girl’s state, the others bring Joey and Daniel up to speed. As Tyler covers what they do in group, how they came together as survivors, the sleepover, and the camping trip, he notices Joey’s open expression drawing more and more closed, like shutters on a window. Right. He hadn’t thought to invite Joey to the group initially, because—well, he’d been  _ dead, _ and even after Nikita and Matt had spilled the beans on his resurrection, it’d been hard to get in contact with him. As far as Tyler knows, he’s still listed as missing. The one time he tried to call him, he’d been told his number had been disconnected.

“I’m sorry,” Joey interrupts the story, kneading Daniel’s hand, avoiding the others’ eyes. “I know I owe you guys an explanation. When Matt emailed me last week saying he knows about the Society, I panicked. I thought by staying away I’d keep you guys safe, until we figured out the crystal—”

“Okay, time out,” Nikita says, holding up her hands. “You’re talking about that big, glowy blue crystal the Carnival Master had, right? That’s what you went back for?”

“Yes.” His blue eyes darken a few shades. “The Society has it now. They took it when they attacked us earlier. We gotta get it back.”

“We gotta get  _ Matt _ back,” Nikita corrects flatly.

Joey tilts his head, watching her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Tyler clears his throat. “We need to know what’s going on,” he says, trying to cut the sudden tension. “Like, I don’t know, since  _ when _ does Daniel know how to fight people with a  _ dagger?” _ He waves the blade he still has in his possession in Daniel’s direction.

“Since I joined the Society Against Evil two years ago.” Daniel’s voice is weak and tired, but he stares Tyler down from his position curled in the comfort chair on his uninjured side.

Joey pats his knee. “You know the story of how I inherited this house,” he tells Eva and Oli, who nod. “Well, what I didn’t know was that Daniel had been watching me self destruct and went behind my back to research the property. What he found led him to the Society Against Evil, and—”

“I demanded to join,” Daniel takes up the story. “I told them I didn’t care what I had to do, I just needed… to be there for Joey.”

“And so they set him up as a watcher.” Joey gives him a fond look. “Not able to interfere, but you weren’t going to listen to that if I was in trouble, were you?”

Daniel shrugs, wincing when it pulls on his wound. “They don’t have to know that.”

Nikita blinks. “You… you were in Everlock, weren’t you? In drag? You were one of the clowns at the roller rink.”

He smirks, and Eva sucks in a breath. “Oh my god, you were the bearded lady at the circus, too!”

“Listen, I look  _ good _ in a wig.” His smirk turns into a smile. “I was the one who was supposed to put the piranhas in the tanks and… well,  _ forgot.” _

Oli looks stunned. “You saved my life.”

“You’re welcome.” He frowns. “I paid for that, though. They didn’t let me go when Joey was kidnapped by vampires. And, well, I wasn’t supposed to go to Everlock, but I convinced Calliope to take me with her.”

Nikita speaks up. “I thought that Calliope lived there, though.”

Daniel sits up, very slowly. “There are four types of Society members,” he explains. “Seekers, like Shane and Jetpack Girl, they follow the leylines to where the Cursed God’s minions station their games; watchers, like me and Calliope, we’re like auxiliary warriors, in case the battle goes sour; helpers, like Alison, and what Calliope had to be when Jael and Ryu died, they run the game, regulate the voting, keep the players alive in between death challenges; and warriors, the ones who take on the Cursed God’s minions at the end of the night. Helpers and warriors stay on-site until the game begins, while seekers return to base and watchers are dispatched once the game begins.”

“My head hurts,” Tyer complains.

He chuckles. “It’s a little complicated, yeah. I wasn’t ever really interested in what the Society was doing, to be honest with you. I was almost never on base, but one day, about a week before the party was supposed to happen, Shane pulled me aside and told me he had reason to suspect that the Society was up to something, something bad. That they couldn’t be trusted. He’d been gathering people he thought he could trust to try to look into their activities, but he… he died, before we could find out anything concrete.”

Myling interrupts then, placing a hand on Tyler’s shoulder as she stands from Jetpack Girl’s side. “She should be fine,” she says quietly. “Bruises, but no breaks, and I’ve wrapped the few cuts she does have. Get me when she wakes up, I want to check for a concussion.”

Tyler squeezes her hand on his shoulder. “Myling, I can’t even begin to thank you—”

“Sh,” she says, squeezing it back. “We can talk about this later, but I see that I don’t have a place here.” Her eyes are dark when she surveys the group, and her grip on his shoulder tightens just a little. “Whatever you’re up to,  _ baget, _ be safe? Promise me that?”

Tyler’s mouth goes dry, knowing they’re going to have to breach the lion’s den if they want to get Matt back. “I’ll do my best,” he says instead, but she seems to hear it anyway, because she bends over to place a kiss in his hair. Then, brushing Ollie’s blonde hair back and smiling at Stephanie, she disappears into the front of the store.

Joey watches her go with admiration. “She’s something else, Tyler.”

“She really is.” Tyler turns his attention back to Daniel. “So, the Society… have you figured out what’s going on?”

Daniel takes a deep breath. “Shane thought… that Iridessa, the leader of the SAE, was letting people die in order to supercharge the minions, and drain their power into her right before they resurrected the Cursed God.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then a series of “wait, _ what”s _ from everyone in the room, save Joey. Stephanie holds up a hand, silencing the chorus of protests. “Who’s the Cursed God? You keep saying—”

“He’s the big bad,” Joey says, blue eyes like jaded sapphires. “He’s the one the Society has been fighting this whole time.”

“Centuries ago,” Daniel intones, voice dropping low, “he roamed the Earth, draining magic and wreaking havoc everywhere he went. He’s insatiable and all he wanted was the magic from the leylines. But the leylines had protectors, Leywalkers, people who acted as a conduit. They fought him, and one by one he killed them and drained their magic. Iridessa, the Chalice… she’s the last one left. Until now.” He looks each survivor in the eyes, and Tyler shivers when he’s pinned with his gaze. “You guys are the new Leywalkers.”

Andrea reaches a hand to her heart. “My powers,” she mutters, and Daniel nods.

“You’re the Prophet. Psyche. Eva, you’re the Well. Water.” He nods at Joey. “Joey’s the Scythe. Death. I don’t know what the rest of you guys are specifically, but it’s split between fire, air, and earth. And then there’s Iridessa, who commands life.”

“That’s why you called me when the Psychic Twins bullshit happened,” Andrea accuses him.

“I suspected,” he admits, “as soon as you and Tyler came back. You don’t understand, Andrea, there have  _ never _ been survivors before Joey, Eva, and Oli. Like, never. It made Iridessa furious. You see, when the Leywalkers had that big battle against the Cursed God, Iridessa managed to seal him away, but she wasn’t powerful enough to defeat him for good. He suckered her into a deal: if his minions sacrifice a hundred people in a night on a site along a leyline, the lock shatters and he gets pulled back here, in our dimension, our time. The second he does that it’s over, there’s… there’s no fighting him, at least not without Leywalkers.” He shakes his head. “We weren’t even sure that was happening, but when Joey came back with Eva and Oli, and then Tyler and Andrea, and  _ especially _ now, with Nikita—Iridessa knows, she knows the magic is reawakening, it’s being funneled into new Leywalkers. Into you guys.”

Stephanie bounces Ollie in her lap, but her brow is furrowed as she pieces this all together. “So let me sum this up,” she says, drawing their attention. “Iridessa is a centuries-old magic-wielding Leywalker who’s been hoarding the power she leeches from the Cursed God’s minions after she lets them sacrifice dozens of people. And she’s furious with you guys for having survived and thus inheriting the magic from leylines that she’d thought dormant or lost. And she sent out her goons to capture you guys… why? To bring you in?”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Daniel says darkly. “I haven’t been back in weeks, but Jetpack Girl contacted me saying that they knew about Matt, that he was digging into the Society and that he was getting close to the truth. Unfortunately, Joey and I weren’t in town. We were…” He shifts, exchanging glances with Joey, who shakes his head. Daniel sighs. “We were in Pennsylvania,” he admits.

Nikita narrows her eyes to slits. “In Everlock?”

“Kind of. We’ll explain in a second.” Daniel looks to Stephanie. “I told Jetpack Girl to try to get to Matt, to bring him into the fold. We haven’t exactly been… talking. Matt’s persistent as hell; he knew Joey was here at home, that I was hiding him.”

“Why?” Tyler asks, drawing their eyes to him. He stares at Joey. “Why wouldn’t you tell us you were here? That you were okay? Alive, even? Why would you hide this from us?”

“Yeah, honey, I didn’t even know you made it back to our time in one piece,” Nikita tells him, sounding upset.

Joey swallows hard. “I… I was looking into something. Something huge, and I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”

“Why the  _ hell not—” _ Nikita starts to say, but Andrea cuts her off, drawing in a loud breath.

“Are you—” she starts to say, and then catches herself, flinching, and Tyler remembers only days ago when she’d done the same thing: caught a stray thought, and blurted a secret.

Joey shakes his head. “After we get Matt back,” he begs. “We need the crystal anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” Eva demands, crossing her arms. “Joey, I am  _ sick _ of secrets, what the  _ fuck _ is going on?”

“I think…” He licks his lips, and Daniel reaches over to squeeze his hand. Joey closes his eyes. “I think I have a way to bring our friends back.”

Tyler’s ears pop. Ollie begins to cry immediately, Stephanie climbing to her feet to bounce him. Everyone’s heads whip around as the temperature in the room drops, and Tyler realizes all of a sudden that it’s coming from  _ him, _ his fingers flexing as little wisps of wind thread through his fingers.

No, not wind. “Air,” he says aloud, with wide eyes. “Am I—?”

“The Breath,” Daniel says, with a small grin. He points at Nikita. “I’m willing to bet you’re fire, the Dragon. So Oli, that makes you—”

“Earth?” the Brit guesses, and Daniel nods.

“The Mountain.” He exhales. “This is happening. The stories are true.”

“Stories?” Nikita echoes, but Eva cuts her off.

“No, no, I wanna know what you meant by  _ bring them back,” _ she says, pinning Joey with a stare. “Do you mean back from the  _ dead?” _

“That’s just the thing,” Joey says, visibly steeling himself. “They’re not dead.”

_ “How can they not be dead?” _ Eva’s voice rockets up in pitch. “We saw them die, Joey! You were there!”

“I was there for all of them,” he says quietly, and they all fall silent, remembering. He looks away, to Jetpack Girl where she sleeps on the couch, her face pinched with pain. “Listen, I will explain after we get Matt, and the crystal, back from the SAE. It’s kind of a long story, and it’s not even the half of what’s going on with the prophecy, and the Society itself, and Iridessa. Believe me, it’s not important right now. Getting Matt back is.”

“You’re damn right about that,” Nikita agrees. She looks at the others. “And how, exactly, are we supposed to do that? Somehow I doubt a bunch of untrained Youtubers who just discovered their brand spankin’ new powers are going to be much of a threat against one evil lady with power over  _ life, _ or her evil henchmen.”

“They’re not all evil,” Daniel corrects. “They’re under her control. With each rank, Society members drink from her chalice. It makes them immortal, but it also makes them more and more devoted to her.” He scowls. “Me and Jetpack Girl are no exception.”

“Found that out the hard way.”

Only Tyler, sitting on the floor next to her, connects the voice to Jetpack Girl. He gasps, whirling to see her foggy hazel eyes peering at him through half-lidded slits. “Oh, thank god,” he says, pulling her into a gentle hug.

She hisses, but clings to him when he tries to pull back. “It’s good to see you, Tyler,” she says.

His answering smile is a little watery. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” she says with a laugh, “about a hundred fifty years, from my perspective at least.”

Stephanie makes a small noise, and Nikita cocks her hip, saying, “Well you look good for being upwards of a hundred, sister.”

“Thanks, I think.” Jetpack Girl grimaces as she tries to sit up. She eyes Daniel’s bare chest, the bandages wrapped around his middle. “You look like shit, Preda.”

“Right back atcha, JPG,” he says wryly.

“I keep telling you, “jetpack” is  _ one _ word.”

“And I keep telling  _ you _ that my boyfriend’s initials are the same as yours and that gets confusing as hell.”

Stephanie says, “Oh,” very quiet from where she sits, as if just understanding something. Meanwhile Tyler squeezes Jetpack Girl’s forearm. “You said something about Matt just before you passed out,” he informs her, and she nods.

“Yeah. We’ve got trouble.”

She explains her side of the story, from meeting Matt and getting captured by the Society, to waking up in the bell tower, to being separated from Matt and beaten by some of the guards, who eventually dragged her back to the bell tower and left her there for Matt to find.

“Luckily Matt’s really observant,” she says, talking slow so as not to move her bruised ribs too much. “He stole one of the keys from the guard as he was tossing him in, and we came up with a plan to escape.” She sighs. “We didn’t get too far, though. Matt told me to run, told me to go to his house and find his wife, that she would know what to do. I didn’t want to leave him, but he insisted on trying to distract the guards. Said he was worth more to them, that they wouldn’t kill him, but they might kill me if they caught me.” She suppresses a shiver, closing her eyes. “I wandered, I don’t even know how far.”

“It’s lucky as hell we ran into you,” Nikita says, frowning.

Andrea shakes her head. “I was driving. Believe me, it wasn’t luck.”

“Either way, you’re here now.” Stephanie stands. Ollie’s fallen asleep again in his Ergo, and she’s gentle as she approaches Jetpack Girl, kneeling in front of her. Her voice is soft but her eyes are hard. “What does she want with my husband?”

Jetpack Girl meets her eyes. “He’s a hostage.”

“For?”

“Them.”

Tyler feels a chill run down his shoulders when Jetpack Girl gestures to the survivors. “She wants our powers, doesn’t she?”

Jetpack Girl nods. “And he’s the incentive, I bet.”

“No,” Stephanie says, tapping her fingers on the arm of the couch as she thinks hard. “There must be something more, something she wants from  _ Matt. _ Otherwise why go after me?”

“To keep you from calling the police?” Daniel guesses.

She glares at him. “And why shouldn’t we? We know where he is! We should get a SWAT team and tear their doors down!”

“They have magic,” Joey reminds her, and she deflates, her anger already spent. Joey shakes his head. “The world can’t know about this. There’d be panic. We’d get sent to labs. No, we have to do this on our own.”

“Which brings me back to my question,” Nikita says, drawing their attention. She crosses her arms. “How?”

Daniel and Jetpack Girl look at each other, and Daniel says slowly, “I think I might have an idea about that.” He smiles wryly at Stephanie. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'M BACK DID U MISS ME
> 
> ok ok ok two things: one, I went back and retconned a couple things to make explanations easier, since I know I'm repeating a lot of stuff as we bring our characters up to speed... more or less. the next chapter is ALSO nothing but exposition but I promise we're almost there lmao
> 
> second... I don't remember what I was going to say rip, I'm sure I'll remember eventually lmfao anyway I feel much much better now (I can finally see a screen! hallelujah!), I also have a more concrete idea of how this book is gonna end (hence all the retconning--five more chapters!! four and an epilogue, actually!). OH I TOTALLY REMEMBER WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY, I'm like... out of relevant DBT skills! when I originally mapped this out (months and months and months ago, remember, when I lost my notebook in the very coffeeshop that inspired The Living Room?) I had each chapter perfectly paired with a DBT skill, and now I am Winging It and I'm now out of skills to apply that also relate to the chapter! so, time to pull ones from other modules! just giving you a heads up lol
> 
> I know how therapy works :/
> 
> THIRD THING because I totally blanked on this one, THE DOGGOS ARE FINE. So's Skip, the Patricks' cat. I just didn't add pets bc a) god that is so much work and b) I can't stand the thought of pets in imminent danger 😭
> 
> Up next: explanations, part deux. Also, Nikita has an identity crisis and, like, bonds and stuff.


	25. 24. Nikita - coping ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> coping ahead: preparing a plan to cope with a difficult situation that may happen in the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings except that it's shorttt

_Nikita_

“I hate this,” Nikita tells the window.

Stephanie sighs. “I know.”

Outside evening has melted into night and the darkness seems absolute despite the street lamps lighting The Living Room’s parking lot. Nikita’s grateful for them, knowing full well that they aren’t safe here. If any more Society members attack… well, they have powers now, even if they don’t really know how to use them yet.

Her fingers curl into her palms. She doesn’t want to think about that.

Behind her, Stephanie shifts on the couch, keeping a close eye on Ollie. The baby’s sleeping again—babies sleep a  _ lot, _ Nikita’s finding—but because they don’t have a crib for him, he’s tucked up in the corner of the couch, his mom keeping a hand on his open side to keep him from rolling over. The woman looks exhausted. It’s just the two of them in the piano room now—and Jetpack Girl, curled up in the comfort chair, fast asleep after Myling had declared her concussion-free. The others had retreated to one of the other rooms to iron out the wrinkles in their (terrible, awful) plan. Daniel had been right—Stephanie  _ hates _ the idea of not being able to storm the castle (or fortified church, as it were), and he’d only been able to get her to agree by assuring her that she’s still helping with her part in it, and that this will keep Matt’s family safe, and he’s going to need that when he comes back safe and whole.

It sounds like bullshit to Nikita, quite frankly, and she hasn’t known Stephanie for very long but she knows damn well she’s smart enough to see through it too.

Nikita glances over her shoulder at her. Her eyes drift to the baby, and her lips pull up at the corners. “He looks like you.”

“Yeah, but his smile is all Matthew’s,” she answers, brushing her fingers fondly through Ollie’s thin blonde hair. The baby doesn’t stir from his sleep, and Nikita resists the urge to coo at those big chubby cheeks. She’s always loved kids.

Stephanie continues, her voice drifting a little bit. “He’s still not sleeping through the night, but I think it might have something to do with Matthew’s nightmares. There have been… a couple of times, he’d rent a hotel room just to let us sleep a couple days. I was hoping last night was the same, but he would’ve told me, and he’d be answering his phone, and he wouldn’t be missing right now.” Her bottom lip trembles for just a moment before she sucks it between her teeth, and she closes her eyes. “How can he be missing,  _ again?” _

Nikita comes around and sits on the arm of the chair. She reaches a hand out, then pauses, unsure of where she stands with Matt’s wife. Since they met it’s felt like they’ve existed in a kind of unspoken tug-of-war. Nikita had spent the first month back furious with her, sure she’d been hogging Matt all to herself and that’s the reason he couldn’t come to see her. She’d never apologized for that, but truth be told the jealousy still rampages every second he’s out of her sight.

And that’s ridiculous. Because this is his  _ wife. _ And Nikita is nothing to him—worse than nothing, even, she’s toxic and she knows it. She loves Matt, but not like Stephanie does, and in the end that always wins.

But if anyone in the world knows Nikita’s unbridled rage at being forced to let Matt spend another night as a prisoner, where anything could happen to him, it’s Stephanie. Nikita closes her hand on her shoulder.

“I ain’t the one to sugarcoat,” she admits, “and faith isn’t exactly my strong suit. I can’t say for sure he’s going to be okay. But I’m going to bring him back to you. I promise you that.”

Stephanie looks up at her. “Back to you, too.” When Nikita frowns, she gives a quiet little sigh. “Nikita. He loves you.”

“Well, he shouldn’t,” she says, pulling away and returning to the window. “Not after the shit I pulled.”

“He’s not exactly in any position to hold it against you,” Stephanie responds dryly. “Besides, it’s Matt. He’s already forgiven you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually. And you do too.”

Nikita turns to see her watching her. She shakes her head and inches back until she’s half-sitting on the window ledge, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that looks more defensive than anything. “I don’t deserve—”

“It’s not about deserving.” Stephanie’s brown eyes are black holes in the shadow Nikita casts from the window. Nikita doesn’t know what to do with a look like that. “It’s not about deserving,” she says again. “Whether you deserve it or not, it’s there for you, and the only person standing in your way of accepting it is you.”

Somehow Nikita gets the feeling that she’s not just talking about spilling secrets. She slumps back against the cool glass in the window, staring across the way at Stephanie’s dark, dark eyes. “Matt told you everything, huh?”

“Well, not everything.” Stephanie returns to thumbing her baby’s cheek, and Nikita’s kind of glad to be free of that pinning gaze. “And as much as it stings, I do understand. But you two, you should really talk more. You’re two sides of the same coin. I see that same self-loathing, that guilt, in Matt’s face every morning. I hear it in his voice when he wakes himself screaming. And it isn’t anything I can help him with. Only you can do that. I accepted that a long time ago.”

“And if I can't?” She wrings her hands in her lap and can't not see the gun in them, pink metal hot, skin buzzing from the contact, and Manny's face go from conviction and faith to doubt to fear, and her tears had blurred it but not enough. “If I  _ hurt _ him, instead? You heard Daniel—I’m the  _ Dragon. _ I destroy. I scald everything I touch.”

Stephanie rises from the couch. She makes her way to her, sitting on the windowsill next to her, and takes both of her hands. Nikita lets her even though she isn't sure where she's going with this. Despite Matt's tendency to be physically affectionate, Nikita's gotten the feeling that Stephanie isn't nearly as touchy-feely.

The older woman dips her chin so she can catch Nikita's eyes. She holds up their joined hands. “Not everything.”

Nikita scowls. “That's not what I meant.”

“No, I know. Fire can be destructive.” She cocks her head. “But more than that, it's life. It's hope. It's light. It's drive and passion. It's warmth and healing. It's the reaction that stems from separate components joining together to make a miracle. We wouldn't survive without fire. And they won't survive without you.”

“I get it,” Nikita mutters. “We all have our roles, yada yada, I'm Lavagirl and I'm bringing light to drive back the darkness or whatever bullshit—”

Stephanie's hands tighten on hers. “You're going to light them up,” she promises. “Because destruction brings about change, too, and if that's really all you are, Nikita—if destroying things is all you do—then burn that  _ damn _ church to the ground. Let them know who they've stolen from.” Her dark eyes never waver from Nikita's face. “Make them regret it.”

Nikita stares back at her. “You are so fucking cool.”

A wan smile flickers onto her lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

There's a double meaning in those words, and Nikita can't pretend to not have heard it, not when Stephanie's looking at her like that. She can see why Matt married this woman. 

Jetpack Girl wakes with a hiss. Stephanie pulls away, coming around to brush her thumb across the younger—older?—girl’s forehead. Bleary hazel eyes blink up at her, and she smiles as they focus on her face.

“You sure you’re up for this?” she asks with an arched eyebrow. “You can switch with Daniel.”

She shakes her head, then winces, regretting that. “I know the layout of the church better than he does. I know where she’s keeping him. I gotta be there.”

“I texted Gabby, too,” Nikita tells Stephanie, drawing her attention to her. “He’s good with kids, he can stay here with Myling and help take care of Ollie.”

Stephanie takes a deep breath, looking slightly ill. “We’re doing this, then.”

Nikita grins. “Like some kind of fucked up, half-assed Avengers.”

Jetpack Girl watches Stephanie’s face with concerned, half-lidded eyes. “You don’t have to do this, Mrs. Patrick,” she says gently. “I mean, it’s kind of a terrible plan.”

“It  _ is _ terrible,” Stephanie agrees. “And there are lots of ways this can go wrong, and there’s no guarantee that we can get Matthew back even if we do succeed. There’s no guarantee that we’re all coming out of this alive.”

Nikita sighs, leaning back against the window again. “Well, now, that’s just par for the course for most of us, Stephanie.”

“And you don’t have to do this,” Jetpack Girl repeats.

“I do, though.” Stephanie stares, eyes distant, at Ollie’s sleeping, peaceful face. “I’ve felt helpless for too damn long. If I can’t go get him myself, I  _ have _ to help somehow. I just hate that I won’t be there.”

They fall silent. Nikita turns to gaze out the window again, surveying the parking lot of their little hiding spot. They should be safe here till morning. Gabby had been on board immediately, even though she’d been reluctant to tell him exactly what’s going on outside of  **_life or death bullshit happening soon. need your help._ **

And he’d texted back,  **_when and where?_ ** within seconds and Nikita puts a hand on her heart, aching, thinking she might not deserve that kind of ride or die loyalty. But it’s there for her anyway, and she needs it, and however temporary her friendship with Gabby is, whether he wises up to her or not, she’s never felt more grateful for it.

Stephanie speaks again, her voice soft. “How did he look?”

Nikita faces them again, opening her mouth, but Jetpack Girl is already answering.

“Tired,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more tired. And he looked really shaken up after Iridessa talked to him. I don’t know what she told him, but he looked…” She trails off. “Not defeated. But, like… crushed.”

Stephanie nods, her expression quiet, resigned acceptance. “I love him,” she says, sounding miserable. “I wish I’d told him more.”

“He knows,” Nikita tells her.

“No, I know. But it’s been so hard, these past few months.” She swipes at her eyes. Nikita hadn’t even known she’d been crying. “I want to do right by him, by our son. I wanted to give him space. I was hoping group was good for him. I just want him back.”

Her tears win out, and both Jetpack Girl and Nikita make their way to her, sitting next to her and offering their support as she cries and cries. The way the tears flow, Nikita suspects this has been a long time coming, that she’s releasing tension that’s been pent up for ages now, maybe ever since Matt came home. She nudges her shoulder as her quiet sobs ebb. “It’s not good to keep that inside, you know,” she says gently.

Stephanie shakes her head, wiping at her face. “I’ve been trying to be strong for so…  _ long.” _

“And trust me, chiquita, that ain’t the way to go about it.” Nikita shifts so she can catch her red eyes. “You can’t be strong all the time. It’s not possible. Let yourself bend before you break, okay?”

Stephanie stares at her. “Are… are you okay?”

Nikita blinks, not expecting that question. She surveys herself. Two days ago she’d been a desolate wasteland. Today she’s learned she has superpowers, that her partner is MIA, that his wife is actually pretty cool, and that a cursed god is trying to bring about the apocalypse and she and her friends might be the only thing standing in his way.

But she’s never felt more resolved. The knotted ball of hurt in her gut that twists every time she thinks of Manny has curbed to a dull throb instead of a screaming ache. She has something precious in the form of Gabriel Zamora and maybe, she thinks, looking at Stephanie, in other people too. The apocalypse is coming, but she doesn’t feel cold. She feels warm.

“You know what?” she says slowly. “I think I am.”

Tomorrow they’re going to roll the dice and see where they land, and it could all go horribly, terribly wrong. But she’s made a promise, to Stephanie and herself. She’s bringing Matt home, no matter what she has to do to achieve it.

She’s the Dragon. And they’ll regret ever thinking of stealing from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies, last Sunday got away from me (it was Easter... forgot that was happening, wow) and this chapter is v short BUT! next chapter kicks off the climax! oml you guys we're almost there. I've left Matt in peril for a lil longer than I intended lmao sorry buddy
> 
> Up next: the survivors put their plan into motion. Team Crystal stumbles onto something horrifying. Things go badly almost immediately.


	26. 25. Oli - turning your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> turning your mind: beginning the process of accepting what is vs what should be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings! an apology! sorry this is late! T^T

_Oli_

Oli wakes up cold.

He startles upon opening his eyes, forgetting at first that they’re back in the piano room at the coffee shop. Frowning, he takes in the forms of his friends in their various positions: Jetpack Girl splayed out on the couch; Joey and Daniel curled up together in the recliner chair; Nikita and Andrea below the windowsill, out of sight of anyone who might be passing by, the sun streaming through the window and highlighting the faded pink in Nikita’s hair. He turns his head and sees Eva, a foot from his face, her back turned towards him from where she sleeps on the stage next to him. The coldness grows, an ache in his rib cage, but Oli ignores it, carefully climbing to his feet and following the stairs down.

Stephanie, her tiny son Andrea and Tyler have taken to calling Smollie, and Myling are already awake in the lobby of the coffee shop, gathered and drinking from personalized mugs. Myling smiles at him when he walks into the room. _“_ _Magandang umaga,”_ she greets, and Oli arches his eyebrows.

 _“Magandang umaga. Po,”_ he tags on at the end, remembering his manners, and she rolls her eyes as she gets up.

“What did I say about calling me old, _baget?”_

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about customers,” she adds, patting his shoulder as he passes her. “We’re closed today.”

Stephanie bounces baby Ollie in her lap as he sits down at the table while Myling goes behind the counter to her espresso machine. “I didn’t know you knew Tagalog, Oli.”

He holds up pinched fingers. “Just a little bit. I’ve been using Duolingo since I’ve met Myling.”

“That’s kind of you,” she says.

“His pronunciation needs work,” Myling calls from where she’s making his drink.

“I’m better than Tyler,” he counters, and she chuckles, conceding his point. Sobering a little, he says, “Thank you for letting us stay, Myling. The blankets made the stage very comfortable.”

She clicks her tongue as she brings him his drink. “Should invest in more couches, I think,” she says. “In any case, Oli, you always have a home here. Whatever you all are caught up in, if I can keep you safe, I will do what I can to help.”

Stephanie worries her lip. “What are we going to do if we pull this off? They know where we live, there’s more of them than us. We can’t go in hiding.”

Oli cups his mug. It’s green and detailed with little leaves, like the canopy of a tree. He casts a suspicious glance in Myling’s direction, but she doesn’t notice, sitting down across from Stephanie and telling her, “You can stay here as long as you like, but it can’t be comfortable, not for you and the little one.”

“We’ll tell the police,” Oli chimes in. “Once we get Matt back, they have no leverage.”

“They have magic,” she counters, and he shrugs.

“Yeah, but they’re a secret society, and I mean—Matt’s pretty well known. He has more subscribers than any of us.”

“The Game Theorists is a group effort,” Stephanie points out.

“You know what I mean.” Oli takes a sip and his shoulders relax at the taste of lavender, honey, and vanilla. “We shine a light on what they’re doing, they can’t come after him again. Or any of us, hopefully.”

Myling shakes her head. “I hope you kids know what you’re doing.”

“Me too,” Stephanie says, bouncing Smollie again. The baby coos with delight, reaching his tiny fingers towards Oli’s mug. The Brit pulls it out of his reach but smiles at the sight of it.

“This plan will work,” he assures Stephanie, noticing that she remains unconvinced. “Splitting up like this will split them up too, and give us a fighting chance. Daniel will keep you safe, and Myling will take care of the baby—”

“Nikita said she’s asked Gabby to help out with that too,” Stephanie says, and Oli nods.

“It’s going to go fine,” he says, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

Stephanie takes a deep breath. “I’d really rather plan this out more, but Matthew’s already been there too long. We don’t even know if he’s still—”

He stops that train of thought, already hearing her voice breaking. “They need him alive. For whatever reason, they need him, and alive he’ll stay until we can get to him.” He pats her hand. “If worst comes to worst, we’ll give ourselves up, all right? None of us are going to let them hurt him. I promise.”

Baby Smollie takes that moment to let out a high pitched squeal, breaking the tension as Stephanie laughs and pats her baby’s belly, drawing her other hand from Oli’s grasp to wipe at her eyes. “You really are the Mountain,” she tells him, smiling wetly. “Resolute, you.”

Oli reddens. “I’m just… doing my best.”

“It’s good.” When he casts a doubtful look towards the piano room, she says, “Hey. You keep the faith until the others can believe it, too. That’s a good thing, Oli.”

“I’ve never been accused of being patient,” he admits, and Myling snorts into her coffee.

“Love is patient,” she corrects, her accent curling the words. “Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.”

Oli frowns. “Isn’t that a song?”

 _“Bastos talaga,”_ she exclaims. “What are they teaching the children these days?”

“I’m English.”

Stephanie chuckles. “Pretty sure Christianity is still the largest religion in the world, but never mind that. She’s saying that you provide the foundation. You give them base.”

Oli meets Myling’s eyes. “A place to come back to?”

She smiles at him. Oli drinks his coffee. They lapse into a comfortable silence that’s broken only minutes later as Nikita rushes into the room, pulling her hair back into a short, low ponytail as she goes to the door and unlocks it, throwing it open.

Oli’s never met Gabriel Zamora, and he almost doesn’t recognize his bare face, faded green hair, and outfit consisting only of a gray sweatshirt and jeans. Nikita hugs him fiercely as he comes inside. “I’m so frickin’ happy you see you, girl,” she says, pulling away.

“Anything for my favorite sister,” he says seriously. “Never thought I’d be back on babysitting duty, but you said life or death, so—”

“It really is, Gabby, I wouldn’t ask this of you if it weren’t.” She closes the door behind him and locks it, leading him over to the table. “This is Stephanie, and the baby is Oliver. Ollie.”

"We've met actually," Stephanie says, smiling at the stylist. "Hello, Gabby."

"Hey, Steph," Gabby says with a grin. "He's getting big already! How old is he?"

Stephanie lets him pick Smollie up and hold him up high in the air. "Almost five months now."

"Wait, hold up," Nikita interrupts,  _"how_ exactly do you two know each other?"

"We had our own support group," Stephanie explains. "When you guys were in Everlock, a lot of us friends, family, and roommates got together once a week. We haven't since you and Matthew came back, but some of us still keep in touch."

Smollie coos, wide brown eyes latching onto the dull green in Gabriel’s hair immediately. Gabriel lets him explore the top of his head, grabbing fistfuls of it in his tiny hands, before turning to Stephanie. “Anything I should know?”

She nods. “I’ve prepared a couple bottles, they’re in the fridge. Myling will also be here to help—she’s bought new diapers and blankets for him when he goes down for a nap. I should be back by tonight, but if not…” She hesitates, looking at Oli and Nikita, who look at each other.

“Call the police,” Oli offers, and Nikita shrugs, apparently agreeing.

Gabriel settles the baby in the crook of his arm, furrowing his brow—curiously bare without makeup on, like the pictures Oli’s seen of him portray—at Nikita. “You’re coming back, right?”

“I have no idea,” she says. “We might die doing this.” She takes a deep breath, exchanging a long glance with Oli. “But let’s be real. We’re too used to this shit by now, and I been lowkey itching to fight somebody for months. Let’s just get this over with.”

Oli drinks his coffee and hopes that this won’t be the last time he gets to taste it. Despite its heat, he still feels cold.

-

The church compound is like a _fort._ Jetpack Girl had done her best to give them blueprints of it, since all they could make out from a Google satellite search is that it has four walls and three major buildings. Oli can see the bell tower from outside of it and wonders if Matt can see them too, gathering at the end of the block and watching the massive iron gate blocking the entrance. He has an odd urge to wave and tamps it down, instead watching as Stephanie steels herself before turning on her phone.

The plan is to lure most of the SAE members out of the compound in pursuit of Stephanie as bait. She, along with Daniel to protect her if things go horribly wrong (which they will, Oli has no doubt), will drive around in their stolen SUV and lead them on a wild goose chase for as long as they can, while the others sneak onto the compound and split into two groups. One—Oli, Joey, and Tyler—will search for the crystal Joey needs. The others—Nikita, Andrea, and Eva—will follow Jetpack Girl to the bell tower to get Matt. Then they get the hell out of Dodge, hopefully unscathed, Daniel will lose their pursuers, and they all meet back up at the Living Room, where Myling and Gabriel will stay with the baby to make sure he’s safe while his parents are in imminent danger.   

It’s not a _good_ plan, but Oli believes it’ll work. He’s just not sure for how long.

The cell phone’s tone drones on and on as Stephanie puts the call on speaker. It’s good, at least, because that means the phone had been on, but not so good considering that it had been turned on, and Oli can only assume that’s because Iridessa had known they would call.

He looks over at the others, surveying their faces. Stephanie stares straight ahead, calm on the outside as she clutches her phone in one hand and the handle of the SUV in the other. She’s still dressed in the clothes from yesterday but she looks utterly impeccable, unflappable and resolved. Oli has to admire her tenacity. He’d be losing his mind if this was—

He shuts that thought down. On the other side of the SUV is Daniel, stealing a kiss from Joey. His face is drawn, too, but not pinched in the pain from yesterday, even though Oli knows he has to be hurting still. Joey is stone-faced as he turns away, but when he catches Oli’s eye, he smiles, and a small bit of the worry Oli has inside melts away. Joey’s always felt invincible to Oli. He’s not ecstatic about finding this crystal over Matt, but if Joey says they need it, then he’s willing to follow him anywhere.

Andrea and Tyler are side by side, waiting tensely for the call to be picked up. They’re going to be split, primarily because Daniel suspects that Tyler would be able to tip Andrea off telepathically if things start going South, regardless of distance. Oli has his doubts about that, but it’s a safe bet anyway now that they’re learning more and more about their powers. He steals a quick glance at his hands, flexing them and curling them into fists. He doesn’t feel particularly earth-y. But maybe—hopefully—that’ll come in time.

Nikita is on his left, tiny and yet the most terrifying thing Oli’s ever seen. He can almost feel the heat radiating off her small frame as she clenches her fists and her teeth, glaring daggers at the phone as if she could make it explode just by looking. Oh, well, maybe she can, and Oli starts to worry just a little bit about the state of Stephanie’s poor iPhone.

And then Eva. On his right. Her arms are crossed and when he sneaks a glance at her expression, he sees nothing but stark determination. It’s the same one she’d worn when she told him flatly, “You’re going to survive,” back at Joey’s old mansion in the 1920s. He feels the pang again and mourns the distance between them, wondering if they’re ever going to close it and be okay again.

“Be careful in there,” he murmurs to her before he can stop himself.

She turns to him, brown eyes blazing, and when she brushes his elbow as she turns, he feels like she’s burned it. “You too,” she says. “Stay safe. I mean it, Oli.”

“I’ll do my best.” The echo of his earlier statement feels hollow, but neither of them can ruminate on it as the call finally connects.

 _“Stephanie Patrick, I presume.”_ It’s a woman’s voice, accented almost like his but not quite. It coats Oli’s ears like oil and he shivers involuntarily. _“I’d been hoping you could come to your senses, my dear.”_

Stephanie squares her shoulders. “I want Matthew back.”

_“Of course. I’m sure I can arrange someone to bring you to him—”_

“No. Give him back.”

_“I really don’t think you’re in any sort of position to be making demands, Stephanie.”_

Stephanie’s voice cracks. “I don’t even know if he’s still _alive,_ you monster.”

_“Then allow me to assuage your concerns.”_

And a moment later it’s Matt’s voice, exhausted and dry and Oli is so shocked to hear it he sucks in a breath. _“Steph? You need to_ run.”

“Matthew?” Stephanie clutches her phone. “Matthew, are you—”

_“You need to run, they know where you are! They can track your phone through mine! Steph, please—”_

The call ends. Daniel is already in the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition and yelling for Stephanie to get inside. Stephanie shoves her phone in her pocket, turns and pins Nikita with a look so intense Oli takes a step back even though it isn’t aimed at him, and says, “Bring him _home.”_ And then she’s in the SUV, and Daniel is peeling off down the road, and the rest of them huddle back against the wall as the big, black iron gate creaks open and two, three, _four_ SUVs follow them out.

Oli holds his breath, shaking. Then, Jetpack Girl nods at Joey, whispers, “Good luck,” and leads the way around the back of the compound, taking her team with her.

Joey looks from Tyler to Oli. “In and out,” he says, sounding a whole lot more confident than Oli feels.

Still, Oli nods with Tyler, and they make their way to the iron gate just as it’s starting to close, slipping past it, and just like that, they’re inside.

It’s beautiful, especially in the low morning sun streaking like lasers through the storm clouds above. In the back left corner is the bell tower, stretching high overhead and made of red bricks and thick, heavy wood Oli can’t identify. Next to it is the church itself, a cathedral surprisingly large for Los Angeles, even as far on the outskirts of the city as this is. It’s dark brown and ominous in nature, its spire just coming up to the bell in the bell tower. Diagonally across from the bell tower is another building that looks a bit like barracks, or maybe a library. Joey makes a beeline for it, sticking close to wall that closes in the compound. There’s no one out and about, ironically, though there are plenty more—identical, color and make and model and year—SUVs parked around the large fountain in the center of the compound that creates a cul de sac for them.

They’d done this in the early morning to ensure that the sun would still be low enough to give them cover in the shadows. Oli has his doubts, but they’d needed to plan, and none of them wanted to wait until the next night for Iridessa to inevitably find them at The Living Room. None of the soreness from sleeping on a stage lingers in Oli’s muscles, though, so he isn’t complaining. He just wants to get this crystal, get Matt, and get out. They can figure the rest out later.

Joey leads the way like he’s being pulled. Tyler and Oli stick close to him, but they all have experience lurking around large compounds, so they watch each other’s backs as they let Joey be as reckless as he wants.

“This really is like old times,” Oli mutters upon thinking of it, and Tyler lets out a soft laugh in response.

“Come on,” Joey whispers, making a beeline across the foyer and into a side hallway.

Oli hurries to catch up to him, Tyler trailing behind to make sure they’re not spotted. “How do you know where you’re going?” he hisses at Joey’s back.

Joey pauses, letting the two catch up. “I have—this connection, to the crystal,” he explains haltingly, glancing up and down the hallway before cautiously making his way down it. “It’s like I can hear it.”

“Does it have anything to do with you being a gatekeeper?”

Joey stops in the middle of the hall, turning on him. “I’m a what?”

Oli stops too, trying not to run into him. “Matt’s notes. He talked to Shane, said that Shane called you a gatekeeper.”

“That makes sense,” Joey murmurs. “Duh—life and death go together, of _course._ I’m such an idiot.”

“What does gatekeeper mean?” Tyler asks as Joey whirls around again and takes off, at a faster pace this time. “Joey! Does that mean Iridessa’s also a gatekeeper?”

“Yes, yes, of course she is,” he says, “she’s the one who made the deal that sealed him away in the first place.”

“Wait, are you saying—” Oli’s mind is racing. “This gate we’re talking about—”

“It’s where the Cursed God is sealed,” Joey finishes. “And me and Iridessa are the ones who guard the door. Oh, right here.”

They stop at the end of the hall. Oli’s still thinking as he watches Joey listen at the huge oak doors before opening them, slow and careful, peering into what looks like a study.

“It’s empty,” he whispers, and the three of them enter and close the doors behind them.

“But Matt’s notes,” Oli argues as he tries to work this out. “He’d detailed his dream and Shane had said he didn’t know who the other gatekeeper is. He’s part of the Society, he knows the story—he would’ve known Iridessa was the other one, wouldn’t he?”

Joey completely ignores him, searching the room in almost a frenzy. Tyler is rifling through papers on the desk there, and he looks up at him as he finishes speaking. “I guess we can ask Matt when we save him,” he says. “But until then, let’s not worry about it, okay? I have a feeling—”

He stiffens. "What is _that?"_

Oli opens his mouth to ask what he's looking at, but Tyler's already rushing over to the huge painting of a battleground hanging on the wall between two large bookcases just behind him.

“Help me with this,” he grunts, and Oli helps him take the heavy painting down. Behind it is a glass case and in it, a large, light blue crystal, pulsing with a faint white light from within.

Joey lets out a small cry at the sight of the crystal, and he rushes forward to try to get to it. “Wait,” Oli says, catching him and holding him back. “No way that’s not alarmed.”

Tyler, meanwhile, has turned the painting over and is reading what looks like a story pasted to the back of it. “I saw this sticking out from behind it," he says, thumbing the aging parchment. “This is the prophecy, this is the story.”

“The story?”

He shakes his head. “This is what happened in that final battle. How she sealed the Cursed God away.” He scans it. “It’s… it’s really sad, the other Leywalkers gave their lives to give her time. She was the last one left. And—” He sucks in a breath.

“What’s wrong?” The way Joey asks, like he doesn’t actually want the answer to his question, makes it sound like he already knows.

“The Cursed God—” He stutters on it, his lisp more prominent as his horror grows. “He’s—he’s a demon, a demon king risen, he needs a host, a body, to enter our world. A willing vessel. He’d taken Iridessa’s husband, the previous Scythe—the one before you, Joey—after they burned him out of the first one. He agreed to save Iridessa’s life.” Tyler raises his eyes to Oli and Joey. “His name was Matthew.”

“Oh no.” Joey’s eyes are wide as he looks at Oli. “That’s why she wants Matt.”

“She wants to summon the Cursed God _into_ him?”

Tyler swallows. “That’s why she’s after Stephanie, then. If the host has to be willing—”

“She can make Matt say yes.” Joey pushes a hand through his brown hair. “She was right, he’s not just bait for us.”

“But why would she do that?” Oli argues. “Why would she prematurely summon the Cursed God?”

“Because we are out of time.”

They all whirl to see a small, pale woman with dark hair and blue eyes standing in the doorway. Oli’s heart sinks. Iridessa. Has to be, with that musical voice and that strange accent that’s English but not from any region he’s ever heard of. Her eyes flick across the faces of the three frozen Youtubers staring back at her, and her thin lips pull into a smile. “I have to say, Joey, that while it’s very rude of you to break into someone’s office and attempt to take their belongings, I am actually quite pleased to see you.”

Oli steps in front of his friends. “Where’s Matt?”

“I’d be happy to take you to him,” she says, tilting her head, and very suddenly there are guards—four of them, each one as big as Oli, and they flood the room and grab them. Oli’s suddenly back in the twenties again, being yanked around by Marvin the groundskeeper, and he _really_ hopes they’re not about to be chloroformed and shoved into a basement again.  _Powers,_ he thinks, wincing against their bruising grips,  _if there's ever a time to pop out and save us, now is prime._

Iridessa approaches Joey, grasping him by the chin and ignoring the fire that blazes in his eyes as he glares at her. “Very pleased,” she repeats, releasing him. She smiles at the three of them. “Now, let us go join Matthew and wait for the rest of your friends to join us, shall we? Then I can give you the answers you seek.” She leans in close to Joey’s face, and Joey flinches away from her, jaw clenched. “And then you can give me your powers,” she murmurs in his ear, loud enough for the other two to hear.

“Bring them,” she tells the guards, “and the crystal, too. It seems as if we are doing this today, instead.”

“Doing what,” Oli asks nervously.

No one answers him. As they’re yanked out of the room, following Iridessa back down the long hallway, Oli locks eyes with Tyler and Joey and knows they’re all thinking the same thing.

Hopefully the others are having better luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been having a rough few weeks emotionally and that's really been affecting my writing, and productivity in general. but I am so DETERMINED TO FINISH THIS we're so close you guys so close oh my ggggod
> 
> "Smollie" credit goes to Birdy for being an absolute gem, I had to steal it, thank you for existing
> 
> Up next: Team Matt is not having better luck.


	27. 26. Andrea - emotion mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emotion mind: the state of mind where emotions control actions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small warning for forced triggers, not graphic, just be aware

_Andrea_

"Where is he?" Nikita seethes.

Andrea can feel her rage from outside the lavish suite that makes up the penthouse of the bell tower. She lingers on the top step and watches Nikita pace like a caged jaguar, peering into every corner of the room as if she'll find Matt there hiding from them.

Jetpack Girl looks helpless, stunned, and a bit sickly from the flight of stairs they’d climbed to get here. "I—I don't know, this is where we were kept," she says, gesturing to the room at large. "They must have moved him."

Nikita hits the wall, making everyone but Eva jump at the sound. "He could be anywhere by now! She could've taken him offsite, far the fuck away from here!"

"She wouldn't do that," Jetpack Girl says firmly. "Her base of operations is here; she doesn't leave these grounds. Her magic is tied to this church. If she really needs Matt, she'll keep him close, I promise you that."

Eva, who's been  _ really  _ quiet this past day and a half—Andrea's worried about that, only catching glimpses of the turmoil going on in their Well's head but knowing a lot of it has to do with the sudden gulf between her and her partner—nudges Andrea. "Can you sense him?"

Andrea blinks, startled to find their attention on her. "Huh?"

"Using your Psyche thing," Eva explains, gesturing towards her head to demonstrate. "Can you sense Matt and try to locate him that way?"

"I mean, I don't know," she says, reluctant to promise anything, especially when Nikita's looking at her like that. "Matt's not like us, he's not magic, and it's a whole lot easier to do when the other person is a survivor—"

"He  _ is _ a survivor," Nikita corrects sharply. "Can you try?"

Andrea shuts her mouth on what she wants to say and just nods instead. Stepping into the room, she closes her eyes and concentrates on Matt. "I've never done this before," she warns the others, "so just give me…"

Whatever she'd been planning to say flies out her head as the darkness of her eyelids explodes in color. Eva's murky blue aura springs up about where she'd been standing outside the room, while Nikita's flares bright fucking orange in front of her. Jetpack Girl doesn't have as brilliant a light but what she does have is silver streaked with vibrant, almost glowing green. The sudden onslaught of colors brings a wave of nausea to the forefront, but Andrea steels herself and ignores it, squeezing her eyes shut tighter and searching for the signature she knows to be Matt.

Like Jetpack Girl's, his aura has never been colorful, always a dull grayish hue that seems bruised and exhausted. Andrea's always pitied him for that, his inability to sleep, and also just the knowledge that somehow he isn't like the others. A survivor, yes, but not a Leywalker, and that feels… well, just lonely. There's remnants of it here, his loneliness, dipped in determination and fear that lingers when she glances a bit at Jetpack Girl. He'd been scared for her, then, scared she would end up as collateral damage.

Unwillingly she falls deeper into the echoes of his emotions and frowns when she comes across something strange. "He was relieved," she murmurs aloud for the others' sake. "But—guilty, I think."

"Good," Nikita mutters, her aura wisping and curling like a flame does.

"It's just odd," she puzzles. "It's almost like he was lonely but he was happy about it."

"He doesn't think we're coming for him."

Andrea opens her eyes to see Eva, arms crossed and looking decidedly unhappy about the revelation. "Guilty but relieved, right?" she says. "He knows we're something, knows we're important to Iridessa. If he thinks he fucked up with us to the point that we hate him, she can't use him as a hostage against us. Because we wouldn't care."

Nikita, in an impressive show of restraint, takes a deep breath. "We can fix that after we save him. But we need to find him first. D?"

Andrea pushes down the sick feeling—the familiarity, the panic of messing up and believing so wholeheartedly that there's no way to fix what had been broken, and she never wants that for anyone never mind a friend, even if she doesn't know him all that well. She pushes it down because she can't focus on that anymore, and when she closes her eyes and Matt's loneliness clings to the edges of her notvision, she pushes that down too, just focusing on his signature and stretching her mind, imagining the entire compound, feeling for what she knows to be Matt.

She's surprised when she finds him. His dull gray and brown is nestled up against the most vibrant green she’s ever seen, the same green streaked through Jetpack Girl’s aura, and she puzzles out why that would be until she remembers that Iridessa is also a Leywalker.

Well, shit.

“I found him,” she says, opening her eyes and going to one of the many windows allowing the morning light in. This one faces towards the courtyard as opposed to the city, and Andrea frowns in the direction Matt’s aura had come from. She points for the others to see, ignoring the bars across the windows and how positively dungeon-like it makes the room feel. “He’s in the cathedral.”

“Then let’s go  _ get _ him,” Nikita says, already starting for the door.

“Iridessa’s with him,” Andrea tells her, catching her wrist.

_ “Good,” _ Nikita snarls, pulling it from her grasp and pushing past Eva to head down the spiral staircase again.

Andrea swallows the residual tinted rage she’d gotten from the brief contact with her roommate. Even just a taste of it makes her stomach twist into knots, and she can’t image what kind of turmoil Nikita has to be in, separated for so long from her partner and not knowing if he’s okay.

Looking around the room and feeling only loneliness, and bitterness, and exhaustion, Andrea knows better than anyone that he isn’t. She sighs, closing the door behind them as the girls head back down the stairs.

-

“Follow me,” Jetpack Girl says quietly as they reach the back corner of the huge church. Andrea can’t see a way in that isn’t straight through the huge double doors, but Jetpack Girl seems to know her way around this compound rather well. There are still no people out and about, which is a little odd. She knows they sent a lot of them out to chase after Stephanie and Daniel, but this is still a society—shouldn’t there be plenty more guards or whatever wandering around the compound?

“JG,” she whispers as the blonde girl leads them around the back side of the church, “why aren’t there more people in this place?”

The seeker gives her a backwards glance. “Only the watchers and helpers stay on base, and only until another game has been started up. It’s not a big society, y’know, and there aren’t a lot of new members.”

“New as in Daniel and Shane?” Eva prods.

“Exactly. Think they might be the only members under the age of eighty or ninety.” She smiles a grim, bitter smile. “Now it’s just Daniel.”

“For now,” Nikita mutters, and Andrea catches a stray thought from her—a memory, Joey mentioning yesterday that there might be a way to bring the others back, that they aren’t dead.

He said he’d explain once they got Matt and the crystal back, and Andrea only hopes they can successfully pull this off, because she has a lot of apologies to make and a lot of friends to hug.

The church is nestled right up against the wall, leaving only a few feet of space for the girls to make their way through.  _ My ass is too big for this, _ Nikita complains in her head, and Andrea giggles just loud enough for her roommate to toss her a grin over her shoulder. Eva, at the rear, snorts as well, but Andrea doesn’t know her well enough to guess what she finds so funny.

Jetpack Girl stops at the center and points upwards at the fire escape jutting out of the wall. “We make it to the balcony and there’s a chance she won’t see us,” she whispers.

Eva gives her an approving look. “Good idea. Should you stay out here?”

“Probably.” She looks reluctant about it. “If she gets her eyes on me she might be able to control me. Not well, but it’d be enough.”

“Good thing Daniel isn’t here then,” Andrea says. “It’d be twice as bad for him.”

She nods. “Another reason why he stayed with Stephanie. Anyway, who wants to stand on my shoulders?”

Between the two smallest, Andrea and Nikita, it ends up being Nikita. The Dragon clambers onto Jetpack Girl’s shoulders and grabs the bottom rung of the fire escape, quietly easing it down until it’s low enough for them all to climb up it.

Jetpack Girl waits at the bottom, quietly wishing them luck, and Andrea looks away so she doesn’t see the anxiety drifting off her in little wisps like steam. She’s scared, too, but despite the fact that it’s been over a year, she slips right back into the hard, cold persona she’d had to adopt to survive her slaughtering.

Maybe nothing has changed, after all.

The fire escape leads to a shut window that Eva manages to get open without too much sound. Still, they all freeze, shivering in the cold, late October morning breeze, waiting for the rush of guards to overwhelm them. No one moves, and after a minute Eva silently motions them in, following behind but leaving the window slightly open in case they have to make a run for it.

Andrea, admittedly, doesn’t know a lot about cathedrals, but this church is huge and beautiful. They’re on the upper level at the back of the church, overlooking the rows and rows of pews, directly over the stage and altar. The wood is dark brown and gleaming, the lights overhead bouncing brilliant gold off it’s sheen, and the walls are rich, polished brown etched with pictures of angels and magic. There are more seats up here as well—the balcony stretches all the way around the church, an elevated ring with a low, opaque railing they can hide behind as they make their way around so they can see the altar better.

The three of them are dead silent as Iridessa’s voice bounces off the high ceilings of the chapel. “It’s only a matter of time, Matthew. You can save your family a lot of grief if you just say yes.”

“I said  _ no.” _

Andrea glances at Nikita just in time to see her jaw clench tightly, her eyes sparking—literally, the same marigold of her aura lighting her dark eyes like a hearth at the sound of her partner’s strained, hoarse words. She reaches over to grab her hand, both as comfort and as a warning, and Nikita squeezes it so hard that Andrea winces. She tamps down on their connection now that skin contact has been made—Nikita is fever-bright, almost, and she can’t afford to get lost in her roommate’s head—and resolves to start wearing gloves from now on.

Carefully, the three of them peer over the top of the railing, and Andrea gets her first glimpse of Matt in over a week. He’s lying on the altar, staring straight up at the ceiling, and it’s hard to tell but if she squints she can see the manacles around his wrists, shackling him to the table. His hands grip in fists and then loosen again, and though his long bangs—he really does need a haircut—hide his eyes for the most part, Andrea can see the tension in his shoulders as Iridessa makes a circuit around him. There’s something else, too, something in his aura she can’t quite read or understand, something that keeps him utterly still. Andrea can’t figure out why until she sees the wide metal band stretching across his neck.

Oh. A collar? That’s—

Nikita hisses in unadulterated fury, and when Andrea turns to look at her she sees her roommate’s teeth bared in a snarl and smoke  _ literally _ drifting from the corners of her lips, her eyes solid orange gold like the center of a flame. And through their joined hands Andrea hears  _ that fucking  _ bitch _ put him in a  _ collar _ she  _ has _ to know about the Strongman she has to  _ know _ what that does to him _ and beyond that are memories, memories of Matt getting grabbed by the throat by a man twice his size, of Nikita seizing him around the neck after being mind-controlled herself, being led around by his tie, and Andrea feels absolutely sick for a second and she isn’t sure if it’s from Nikita’s uncontrollable rage or the knowledge that Iridessa had found a trigger of Matt’s and used it against him.

She squeezes her roommate’s hand again, and Nikita turns those glowing eyes on her, looking every bit the dragon with the smoke curling out from her parted lips. “We’re going to get him,” she says in a low voice, impossibly low, knowing sound carries in this church.

_ She hurt him! _

“I know. We’re going to get him. And then we’re going to make her pay. I promise.”

Eva, on Nikita’s other side, puts a hand on her shoulder as well, and maybe the water to Nikita’s fire is what does it, but her roommate takes a deep breath, calming herself just enough to assure Andrea that she won’t set something on fire just for the hell of it.

Iridessa—that must be her, with the dark hair and the blue dress and the swirl of lime green around her—is still speaking, circling him the way a shark would. “You’d be saving the world, Matthew,” she soothes. “You’d still be helping.”

He glares up at her. “I fail to see how.”

“You’re weak.” She brushes the fringe from his forehead and he yanks his head away from her, only to be stopped by the chain that Andrea now sees attaches the collar to the altar, keeping him from sitting up or moving his head too far. Smiling, she grabs a fistful of his hair and he stills, squeezing his eyes shut. “See? Easily defeated. His last vessel was a Leywalker, you know. The Scythe. He’d been unstoppable in that body, killing everyone I ever loved one by one and sparing me just so I could witness the end of the world for him. But you?” And she releases his hair just to cup the side of his face. “You’re a mistake the universe has been trying to fix ever since you came back.”

“Bitch,” Eva mutters.

Matt’s brown eyes blink up at her. “I didn’t ask to be brought back.”

“No.” Iridessa straightens, walks behind him, around the altar and out of his line of sight. “I don’t blame you for it. I blame Joey. But what’s done is done, and we can undo that all right now if you just say yes. Your life for millions, billions of others. You’d be doing the right thing. There doesn’t have to be any bloodshed tonight, Matthew.”

“Except my friends.”

“Well, let’s be honest now, they never should’ve survived in the first place.”

“Why do you want to bring him back now anyway?” he demands. “If you’re so focused on stalling—”

“He is already here,” she interrupts, leaning over him so that her hair dangles over one shoulder. “The seal is already breaking. Don’t you understand? You  _ survived.” _

Matt stares at her. “You didn’t get to drain those monsters of their power, their sacrifices.”

“Your dead friends, yes. Oh, you  _ are _ clever, Matthew.” She pushes her dark hair behind her ear. “Before I figured out a system, he’d already gotten fifty or so sacrifices. Now he has somewhere near eighty. He is  _ coming, _ do you understand? Even sealed his power is beyond comprehension. He’s the one who cracked the earth to try to drown your friend. He’s the one who created the crystal to store the souls of your dead friends so he can hold them hostage. I need to strike him  _ now _ when he isn’t at full capacity. It’s time to end this once and for all.”

She straightens suddenly, whirling, and the girls duck behind the railing again. There’s a beat of silence, and then Iridessa says, “Watch him,” and then marches out of the church, followed by the shuffles of feet. Andrea peeks over the side of it to see someone dressed in a black robe standing behind the altar as Matt lets his head rest against the table, closing his eyes again. She can feel his despair from here, though he’s doing an admirable job keeping it from his face, and her heart breaks a little for him.

Nikita pulls her hand from Andrea’s. Startled, she looks up at her, but her roommate is already making her way to the back of the church again, heading for the stairs they saw there that leads down to the first floor. Andrea wants to demand what she’s doing but she’s already out of sight, and Eva’s right behind her, and Andrea sighs, resigning herself to just wing it like they are.

By the time she gets down there, Nikita’s already clutching a large, ornate silver cup in both hands and bringing it up over the guard’s head.

“Nikita—”

_ Clang. _

“Holy shit,” Andrea says as the guard crumples to the floor and lies there, unmoving. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Nikita?” Matt twists around, trying to see, and Nikita darts to him immediately, not even bothering to check to see if the guard is still alive.

“Matt, are you okay—”

“What are you  _ doing here,” _ he says, voice hoarse and yet still so full of panic, and when Andrea and Eva approach the altar, his eyes dart to them too. “No, no no no, you can’t be here right now—”

“Matthew, honey,” Nikita says in as soothing a voice as she’s capable of, framing his face in her hands and brushing his hair back, “don’t take this the wrong way, but shut the fuck up.”

“Nikita, she’ll kill you.”

“She can certainly try,” Eva growls.

Matt glances at her, and then away just as fast, unable to meet her eyes. “You guys, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to have a long ass talk about that later,” Nikita informs him. “But first we need to get you out of here.”

Now that they’re up close, Andrea can see the dried tear tracks streaking through the grime on Matt’s face. The beginnings of stubble darken his chin and cheekbones, reminding them just how long he’s been here alone. His hair and clothes are disheveled and there’s stark bruising on his neck where the collar presses into the skin. She lets the others touch him—Nikita, mostly—and stands back, watching Matt flinch every time his partner brushes against the collar or gets anywhere near his throat.

She swallows hard, hand straying to her own neck. “That’s so fucking cruel.”

Matt gives a hoarse, brittle chuckle and she realizes that she’d said that out loud. “Well, she told me after Jetpack Girl managed to escape that she was going to have to find a new way to keep me in line. So I guess it’s my fault.”

“Stop that,” Nikita says sternly. “Just stop, Matt.”

“Sorry.”

“I know.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “So am I. But we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He shakes his head. “These manacles don’t have keys, Nikita, they’re magic.”

“Why would—”

“Because they’re not for me,” he says simply. “They’re for the Cursed God.”

There’s a story behind that, but Andrea can’t ask because she suddenly gets a spike of panic and dread, tinted fluffy, pastel pink. She sucks in a breath. “Tyler’s in trouble.”

Eva looks back at her. “She found them?”

“That has to be why she rushed out of here so fast,” Andrea says, feeling her own dread stir in the pit of her stomach. “She has to have some kind of telepathy or connection to this place.”

“I know that the guards here all react to telepathic orders,” Matt explains. He sounds tired. Well—more tired than usual. “Are you saying that everyone is here?”

“Joey and Jetpack Girl, too,” Eva says, and he groans.

“You shouldn't be here," he says, desperate. "You didn't have to come.”

“Dumbass.” Nikita cups his cheek, and it just seems so much more kind than Iridessa’s gesture. “Of course we did.”

He turns into it, and Andrea has to marvel at this partnership that’s so wildly different from Oli and Eva’s, so starkly in contrast to hers and Tyler’s, and yet just as unbreakable. She didn’t think Nikita was capable of being gentle, but the trust that exists between the two of them, even after everything, states otherwise.

“You have to go,” he says finally. “She’ll be coming back here, especially if she got a hold of the others.”

“Like  _ hell _ I’m leaving you,” Nikita snaps.

“You really shouldn’t swear so much in a church, Nikita.”

She rolls her eyes and looks at the others. “Any ideas?”

Eva shakes her head. “He’s right, we can’t be here when she comes back.”

“Eva—”

“I didn’t say leave him,” she cuts her off. “We aren’t leaving Oli and the others either, I promise you that. But let’s grab Jetpack Girl and come up with a plan, or none of us are making it out of this.” She looks past Nikita, to where Matt is looking right at her. “Can you stall her?”

He works his jaw like he wants to protest, but what he says is, “I’ll try.”

“Okay. I have an idea.”

Nikita lingers behind for just a moment, and Andrea touches both her shoulder and Matt’s. “We’re coming back for you,” she promises him, and he nods as best he can, looking doubtful but too polite to say it.

Tyler’s panic grows, and Andrea knows they have to be fast about this. She pulls Nikita from her partner and back towards the stairs, where Eva’s already dragged the unconscious—not dead, thank god—guard to.

Andrea smiles. It’s a shit plan, but it just might work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I wasn't going to put Matt in this chapter but, yknow, it's been like over a month, we've missed him :(
> 
> next chapter is IT the CLIMAX also I might add another chapter in between that one and the epilogue bc... I mean it just feels right, you gotta take your time with the resolution y'know?
> 
> *points* if any of you call that collar kinky I'll fight you, don't degrade Matt's triggers >:(
> 
> happy mom's day to all my good mothers out there! and to those who don't have one (good or otherwise), I'm Your Ma Now
> 
> Up next: Matt gets a front row seat to the beginning of the end


	28. 27. Matt - logic mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> logic mind: the state of mind when reason controls actions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter-wide warning for forced triggers, be safe I love you :(
> 
> also, there's just. wow. lots of crying in this chap

_Matt_

Matt’s had a lot of time to think and the conclusion he’s come to is that they’re really freaking screwed.

Any way you slice it, there’s just no way to win. He can’t say yes to letting the Cursed God use him as a vessel—that would bring him back early, and his friends need time to fully realize their magic to have any chance of taking him down. Also, that just doesn’t sound appealing. But if he refuses… The Society has a far reach, and if they get their hands on his family, he won’t have a choice.

And now, his friends are here, untrained and unarmed and walking right into Iridessa’s trap, and he has no idea how to feel about it. Part of it is intense relief—it’s been days since he’s felt the touch of someone kind, someone he cares about, and the burn of Nikita’s fingertips lingers on his skin long after she’s gone. He wants more than anything on this planet to see his wife, his son, and simultaneously hopes they’re on another continent right now. And still screams the guilt and the shame of knowing he messed up, that he should’ve told them ages ago, that they shouldn’t have come because now they’ll die, and why did they come anyway? For him? No, he hurt them, he lied and hid things,  _ monumental _ things, things that could get them killed now because he didn’t tell them. The crystal, then? Iridessa’s informed him it’s in her possession, the truth behind it, the reason Shane had warned him of it.  _ The crystal is a trap, _ and a dungeon, a bargaining tool. Release the Cursed God and he’ll give them back their friends. Yes, if Joey knew of it, if he had it, he’d absolutely come for it. Matt suddenly understands his entire slaughtering. He’d wondered, to his face even, why Joey would ever decide he wanted to go through this again, to put his friends through this again, on purpose. But this makes perfect sense. If Joey had known what the crystal was, if he knew there was a chance to save them all… of course he would take it.

Matt owes him an apology.

He owes a lot of people an apology.

The doors to the chapel open again. If he turns his head he can watch Iridessa approach, but the thing around his neck keeps him rooted in place. If he moves he remembers it’s there, and his breath gets short, and he makes a fool out of himself as he flies into another panic attack in front of this woman. It’s humiliating, but in the face of how sick he feels when he can’t move at  _ all _ while he’s spiraling, the shame of it is actually largely inconsequential.

Despite this, hearing a chorus of gasps, and even a dismayed, “Matt!” from Tyler, pulls his head ever so slightly towards the aisle, where he can see Iridessa and four of her silent, black robed guards—and his friends, Tyler, Oli, and Joey, all three of them staring at him in undisguised horror. He closes his eyes for a brief, mournful second—the girls had told them that they’re all here, and Jetpack Girl too, but he isn't prepared for the grief that slaps him in the face at the sight of his friends, knowing they’re going to die the second Iridessa yanks their magic from them.

Out loud he says, “Guys, you shouldn’t be here.”

They stop at the base of the stage. Tyler looks horrified, Oli worried, but Joey in particular has a look of such potent fury that he wonders if Iridessa hurt him on the way here.

Iridessa comes around the altar again. As she passes his line of sight, he can see she’s holding the crystal the Carnival Master had possessed, the one that had been planted into his chest. Distantly he thinks,  _ It’s nice to see a theory confirmed. _ He waits for her to wonder who this new guard is standing watch over Matt—he doesn’t know which of the girls donned the robes, but he knows it’s one of them—but she doesn’t seem to notice, which is a huge relief. So she’s not a mindreader then, not even for her own people. She can send them telepathic orders, but he doesn’t think she can look at them and tell that they’re not under her control.  

He doesn’t want to move his head again and go flying into a panic attack at the resulting tug on his neck, so he watches his friends as they struggle in the grips of several SAE members and tries not to flinch when Iridessa speaks behind him.

“Perhaps, Matthew, but I am glad they came.” There’s a smile in her voice that he can picture—he’s been up close and personal with it for a while, so he knows—but Joey’s speaking before he can ruminate too much on it.

“You’re a  _ monster,” _ he spits out, yanking against the guard holding him. “You didn’t have to do that to him.”

And suddenly Matt understands why Joey had looked so angry. Joey had been there for his slaughtering, he would know about Matt’s issues with his neck being touched. His rage had been on Matt’s behalf.

“Matthew has proven more resourceful than I can afford to allow,” Iridessa explains calmly. “But I appreciate your sense of justice, Joey, I do.”

Matt shifts, unsure if he’s embarrassed or uncomfortable just in general. “Joey, she’ll kill you—”

“I don’t freaking  _ care.” _ He glares at her, blue eyes almost glowing in the light from the high windows. “He’s not your husband, you know.”

Matt blinks.  _ What? _

Iridessa’s voice is cold as steel from behind him. “I like you, Joey. I really do. But don’t ever bring that up again.”

Tyler gives Joey a nervous side glance when he completely ignores her. “You’re being super immature! He didn’t do anything to you! Putting him in the same position—”

And then suddenly Joey’s flying back, guard and all, into the pews in the front row. Tendrils of green light dissipate in the air as Iridessa says in a tight voice, “I told you to  _ hold your tongue.” _

Joey, looking slightly dazed and maybe a bit cowed, allows his guard to yank him to his feet again and line back up with the others. Matt tries to catch his gaze, begging quietly for him not to make this any worse than it is.

He hopes the girls have a plan, because he’s running out of faith here.

He jumps as Iridessa’s hand comes down on top of his hair again. His entire body seizes up, pulling against the pressure on his neck, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the feel of fingers crushing into his windpipe, of the terror coursing like ice through his veins. He thinks of Stephanie—

No, it’s over, even though he can see so clearly the lights of the Ferris wheel behind his eyelids—

No, it’s over, but he can’t breathe—

It’s over. It’s over. He’s not there anymore.

Iridessa’s still talking when he slumps back, shaking, holding his breath and clenching his jaw to keep from crying. “—until your friends arrive, and I know they’re here. So we have some time. I’m sure you have questions for me before we get this underway.”

“Ma’am,” says Oli in a polite, but even, voice. “All due respect, please take your hands off of him.”

The fingers she’s threading through his hair pause for a moment. Then Iridessa, voice colored in surprise, says, “Well, one of you has manners. I didn’t think those existed in this day and age. Kids, you know, always so very demanding.”

Oli doesn’t flinch, staring her down, and with a chuckle she removes her hand from Matt’s head and begins to circle the altar, stroking the crystal instead. “I spent many centuries trying to figure out how to fight the Cursed God,” she says conversationally. “It’s taken me a long time to understand that bad people win because good people have lines they won’t cross. Bad people win because they cheat, and good people lose because their pride is too great. So call me a monster if you choose to, Joey. But monsters rule this world, magical or otherwise. It takes monsters to defeat them.”

Tyler is the one who speaks up. “You don’t defeat evil with more evil, Iridessa.”

“Am I evil to you, Tyler Oakley?”

“Honestly? Kinda, yeah.”

“Hm. Well.” Her circling takes her around the altar again, and Matt tenses. Nothing happens, and she continues on her way. “I’ve tried love. I watched love burn my home and the people I cared about to the ground. I’ve tried kindness. Kindness locked me in a centuries-long war I will almost inevitably lose.”

“You could train them,” Matt manages, and she pauses as she goes to make another circuit. Staring unblinking at Tyler, he says, “There’s still time. You knew their predecessors, you know magic better than they do. They can learn, and you don’t have to kill them.”

“Ah, but Matthew.” Her voice sounds… genuinely sad. “I’m tired.”

“You’re a tactician,” Matt argues. “And this is the fate of the planet we’re talking about, you’ve said that. Greater good. You got your magic for a reason, didn’t you? The leyline  _ chose _ you to be its conduit. And it chose them too.”

Tyler’s expression softens a bit, while Oli gives Matt a small smile. Matt’s heart sinks, knowing it’s not enough. He can’t watch his friends die, he can’t do it. Not again.

“We don’t have enough time. These are children. I’m sorry,” she tells the others, beginning to circle again, “but you are. Even if I imbued you with my magic, made you live forever, there’s no telling when the Cursed God will begin his game again. Or whether you’ll be tempted by this crystal here to save your lost friends. Or if he’ll become powerful enough to break out himself, and that’ll be that.”

Joey stares her down. “I am taking that crystal back.”

“You’ll be otherwise occupied.” He hears her set it down somewhere behind him. “I know you don’t believe me, Joey, but I don’t want to kill you. If I could take your magic from you without you dying, I would do it in a heartbeat. But being a Leywalker is forever. The magic doesn’t move on unless you are dead.”

Oli speaks up again, regarding her. “How do you know that absorbing that much magic won’t kill you too?”

“I have siphoned a lot of power from a lot of his lieutenants over the course of this game—Oli, isn’t it?”

He shifts. “Yes, that’s me.”

“It has amplified my own magic a dozenfold. Life is fortitude, it’s—” She stops. Matt freezes, sensing something wrong. “Curious,” she murmurs finally after a tense moment of silence. “So your friends have raided the armory, but aside from that there’s no evidence that they’re here on the compound. Why is that?”

Tyler and Joey both look overly innocent, and seeing it makes Matt crack a smile at the absurdity of Joey’s continuous inability to tell a decent lie. Says a lot about his character, really.

Iridessa nods once in response, and then raises her voice so that it bounces off the high walls of the chapel. “Would you care to join us, ladies?”

Matt’s heart drops to his toes, and in the beat that follows, several things happen at once.

Jetpack Girl’s shiny blonde head pops up over the railing on the balcony high above them, her silver blaster in hand and aimed right at Iridessa. Next to her is Eva with a second blaster, one she’s already firing, and the guard holding onto Oli jerks and stumbles, bright red light coursing through his entire body before he collapses bonelessly on the floor.

And Iridessa, faster than the both of them, reaches out a hand and bright green energy curls around the two of them, pulling them up and over the railing in a deadly arc towards the floor.

Matt can only watch as they seem to fall in slow motion. Everyone is screaming. He’s frozen in place, his own cry trapped in his throat, as Tyler yanks against his guard, throwing out a hand in a desperate, terrified grab for his friends, and all of a sudden a massive gust of wind kicks up towards the two. It swirls around them, catching them in midair as their screams are cut off in shock, gently lowering them to the ground where they stand harmlessly on their feet.

The robed figure at Matt’s side darts forward, towards Iridessa, pulling out a wicked long dagger with jagged edges. Iridessa sees them coming and whirls, pushing her hands at them and sending them flying off the stage. As they crash into the pews their hood falls off, revealing Andrea, gasping in pain.

Iridessa then claps her hands together and extends them, and an eight-foot translucent wall that shimmers green at the edges encompasses the stage, pushing back both the SAE guards and Matt’s friends, leaving him trapped on the other side with Iridessa in front of him. Matt stares past her, at his friends where they begin to fight in earnest—Joey and Oli trading hand-to-hand blows with their guards while Tyler rushes to Andrea’s side and Eva and Jetpack Girl stand, back to back, blasters out and aiming at the dozen or so more guards flooding in from the entrance.

Odd, he doesn’t see Nikita—

“Your friends are very resourceful,” Iridessa says finally, turning to him. She stalks forward to grip his chin in her hand, yanking his attention from the battle to her face as she turns his head straight forward. He struggles to breathe, blinking away the lights of the Ferris wheel—it smells like popcorn and blood and he knows that’s wrong but it’s  _ right there _ in his face. He tries to focus on the words she’s saying, but Ro is screaming, and all he knows right now is how much he wants to see Stephanie.

Her fingers press into his jaw and he squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners of them and dropping sideways into his hairline. “—to have such control over their magic already,” she’s saying, her voice an enraged hiss. “They might even win this battle. All in all, Matthew, you may very well be right. Maybe they do have the potential to be trained. It gives me an idea, at least.”

He has to work to unclench his jaw so he can speak. “Does this mean you’re going to let us go?”

“Not quite, darling.” And she releases his chin just to brush his long hair out of his eyes, then turns and walks out of his line of sight. He wants to turn his head again, to see how his friends are faring—he can hear over the open top of it someone screaming Jetpack Girl’s name—but the collar keeps him rooted, staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears and trying not to completely lose his mind every time he feels the pressure of it. He’s so tired, he’s  _ so _ tired—

“Incentive is a powerful thing, I think,” Iridessa continues from somewhere to his right. “And these beautiful, clever children have proven that they care for you, despite what you’ve told me, Matthew. If I can’t use you as a vessel, I can certainly use you as leverage.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Matt says desperately.

She comes over to him, holding a beautiful, large silver chalice. He’d noticed it on the pedestal when he’d first been brought in here and had a guess at what it was for. “Come on now, Matthew,” she scolds, holding it in one hand and gripping his jaw again in the other. “Playing dumb isn’t becoming of you. With you under my control I can keep them in line no problem. You will belong to me. My dutiful, immortal servant, forever.” She frowns, pausing a moment to look over her shoulder at the battle. “Although I suppose I’ll have to make you drink more than Jetpack Girl has. Such a disobedient girl.”

Matt’s breath quickens. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I know.” She leans back over him, raising the chalice to his lips. “But I want to.”

He thrashes, not caring anymore. The shackles press against his wrists and ankles and the collar keeps him from twisting too far, and he’s gasping for air now, unsure if this is crisp October air in Everlock, 1978 or Los Angeles, 2018. The lights of the church aren’t the lights of the Ferris wheel but they damn well could be, and people are screaming but he can’t tell if it’s the survivors or the other contestants, and Iridessa’s fingers could be the Strongman’s for all he knows, but he can’t breathe, and he hurts, and he’s on his back and he’s about to die—or live forever, a slave to this woman’s every whim just to keep the others in line.

_ “Hey!” _

The chalice, inches from his lips, pulls back as Iridessa straightens, looking for the source of the sound. Matt stares straight up where, almost behind him and upside down, Nikita is aiming a gun—no, a  _ blaster— _ directly at Iridessa’s face. Her eyes are glowing marigold like embers and smoke is trailing from the corners of her mouth and Matt thinks that he’s never been so terrified of her, and yet so in awe.

“That’s my partner, you ugly ass bitch,” she snarls, and then she’s firing over the top of the shield, the blaster’s red energy smashing directly into Iridessa’s hand.

The chalice shatters.

Iridessa screams, a  _ horrid _ sound that shakes the entire foundation of the church, like brakes screeching on train tracks.

A second later, when the pain hits, Matt screams too.

-

They’re in the meadow again.

He’s standing up. He lifts his hands to study them, turning them over before touching his neck gently. Free. Nothing holding him down. This isn’t real.

Across from him is Iridessa. She’s on her hands and knees, heaving shuddering breaths. When she looks up at him, her dark blue eyes are wild.

“No,” she mutters, looking from her hands to him. “No, no, no! Is this some kind of a joke?”

“This is no joke,” says a voice from behind him. Matt whirls, seeing the young angel-like person he’d met before standing there, hands in the pockets of their gray robes. They smile at Matt, and then again at Iridessa, holding the same fondness for both of them. “You should know better than anyone this process, Iridessa. You’ve seen it repeated so many times over.”

“I refuse,” she says tearfully, and when Matt looks back at her he realizes that she  _ is _ crying, silent tears of grief and frustration. “I refuse. After everything we’ve been through I can’t just give up now.”

“It’s too late,” they tell her in a gentle voice. “It’s been too late for a very, very long time. Iridessa. Aren’t you lonely? Wouldn’t you like to go home?”

A low whine escapes the Leywalker’s throat. She buries her head in her hands and weeps quietly. Matt stands there for a long moment before approaching her, kneeling next to her side. He puts his hands on her shoulders as she cries, and when he looks up at his ethereal friend, they give him a small smile and a nod, their ruined, oil-like wings curling in like they’re trying to join the hug.

Iridessa’s sobs slow to hiccups and she looks up at Matt. She does look exhausted, and Matt hadn’t really realized before that he sees that expression every time he looks in a mirror. She nods, slowly, accepting some fate or another.

“Do not make the mistakes I did,” she says fiercely, gripping one of the hands he has on her shoulder. “Do not let it get this far.”

“Iridessa,” he says, staring at her, “I would never do the things you did to me.”

“Not even to avenge everyone you love?”

He can’t promise that, no. But… “They won’t need to be avenged.”

“You say that now,” she murmurs, achingly sad. “We all think we’re invincible. Just be better. You already are.”

He nods. Iridessa looks up, to the sky and then down at the young winged figure. “You’ll take care of them, J?”

“You know that’s not how fate works,” they say with a smile.

“It’s out of my hands now.” She takes a shuddering breath. “I think… I think I would like to go home now.”

J holds out a hand. Iridessa stands and approaches, taking it. She turns back to look at Matt. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean much.”

She and J disappear in wisps of white, glowing light, leaving Matt standing in the meadow alone. He tilts his face to the sky, darkened with storm clouds, and wonders what the hell he’s getting into.

-

When he opens his eyes again, his friends are above him. He’s still lying on the altar. Andrea, Eva, and Tyler have tears streaming down their cheeks, while Nikita drops her face into Matt’s chest the second she sees his eyes blinking open.

“Thank fuck,” she says against his shirt, and instinctively he brings up a hand—free, somehow, from its shackles, and the collar’s gone too, although in its wake his skin feels ice cold—to wrap it around her.

“What happened?” he murmurs, stroking her hair.

“Nikita destroyed the chalice,” Oli says, voice low and grim. “Turns out it was a physical manifestation of her magic, the thing enforcing her and everyone else’s immortality. She just kind of exploded in light, it was wild.”

“Everyone?” He tries to sit up, Nikita backing away a little to give him space. “Jetpack Girl?”

He looks sad. “Her too.”

Silence falls on them. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to apologize, and opens his mouth to, and then Andrea starts chuckling.

“What? What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, still crying, but a blinding grin has grown on her face as she looks him up and down. “Nothing,” she says, reaching over to put a hand on his cheek. “You’re just—Matt, your aura. It’s bright fuckin’ green.”

He stares at her, not comprehending. “You… you mean I’m—”

“A Leywalker,” she confirms, drawing him into a hug. “You’re a Leywalker, Matt.”

And his friends—Nikita and Joey, Andrea and Tyler and Oli and Eva—all join in, holding him as he sits, stunned and very suddenly crying tears of shock and relief as the survivors all gather, whole for the first time ever.

He’s one of them.

He’s a Leywalker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting two chapters this weekend, today and tomorrow, considering technical difficulties (among other things) delayed this one to an ABSURD degree, so surprise! happy Saturday!
> 
> now... I am sorry for punking all yall but to be fair almost everyone called this twist for Matt :P this was always going to happen (and in the way that it happened - I've been planning this climax scene ever since I decided this story was going to cover magical prophecy shit) and I really hope it was worth it! foreshadowing without giving everything away is vERY HARD T_T
> 
> also! thank you to very lovely regular CrazyTheory, who has drawn us fanart! https://insanetheorist.tumblr.com/post/184937378006/nikita-throughout-hil-in-a-nutshell-link-to-the
> 
> one more thing: I've added another chapter in between this one and the epilogue, so this story will be finished NEXT WEEK (all goes according to plan, which we all know damn well may not be the case - again, apologies, I really left Matt hanging for way longer than I meant to sorry doll). after that I will be taking a month long break to a) map out the next book bc hoo boy that'll be a doozy, b) edit and revise this book so that it's more cohesive, and c) write some side stories that fit into this universe that should hopefully shed some light on answers we don't currently have and might not get for a long time.
> 
> Up next: Eva reconciles.


	29. 28. Eva - wise mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wise mind: the harmonic state of being equally in emotion mind and logic mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only warnings here are Sappiness and Swearing In A Church

_Eva_

In the quiet of it, Eva kisses Oli.

Too many things happened the past few minutes, but Eva almost died twice, she knows it. Once when she and Jetpack Girl fell from the balcony. Another time when, all of a sudden, Jetpack Girl whirled and fired her blaster right at her face. The hole it made in the pew behind her made it clear that she’d taken it off of stun, which can only mean that Iridessa had taken control of her friend. Eva hadn’t known what to do, had been frozen in place as Jetpack Girl corrected her aim and was most definitely going to kill her this time. And then Oli had been there. Wrestled the seeker for the blaster, pulled it from her grasp, and in the next second she had regained control of herself and had shot them a thumbs up before turning and socking one of the guards in the face, hard enough to send him reeling backwards.

It had been over in seconds, but Eva can’t stop thinking about it, so when they all pull back from Matt after giving him a proper welcome into the group, she grabs him by the wrist and she kisses him.

She doesn’t have time to fear that he doesn’t want her anymore—he leans into it, letting her hands rest on either side of his face, placing one of his own into the small of her back. She’s back at her neighborhood park, and it’s raining and it smells like springtime and maybe she should have kissed him then, when it meant more to ignore the fear and the danger, but here and now there’s both and neither and for all intents and purposes, she just can’t find it within herself to give a damn.

He smiles into her mouth and she pulls away to look at him. “What was that for?” he asks.

She shrugs, giddy with the relief of how  _ right _ it feels. “You saved my life.”

“Yeah. Always.”

“I just…” Eva thumbs his cheek, searching his brown eyes for answers to questions she doesn’t know to ask. “I just don’t want to wait anymore.”

He chuckles and turns his head to kiss her hand. “To be honest,” he says, “neither do I.”

She kisses him again. When Tyler starts whooping from behind them, she tosses up her middle finger in his direction.

It’s a happy ending. For the most part.

-

Stephanie storms through the doors like an absolute hurricane a few minutes later. Eva has enough time to wonder who called her before she’s on the stage and to the altar where Matt is sitting up.

“Whoa, Steph, wait, I haven’t showered in like two days—”

He doesn’t get to finish. Tyler rolls his eyes. “This is a lot of hetereosexuality for me to handle in one day.”

“I think it’s kinda cute,” Joey coos.

Tyler chuckles. “You would, huh.”

But then Daniel follows a second behind, and Joey’s eyes light up and he meets him halfway down the aisle before they’re kissing too.

Oli looks at Tyler. “Are they allowed to do that in a church?”

Daniel breaks away just long enough to yell, “Fuck the church!”

Tyler sighs. “We’re all going straight to hell, might as well make the most of it.”

Matt and Steph break apart and she spends the next thirty seconds assessing him for injuries. “Are you all right?” she demands. “Did they hurt you? Did they feed you? Where are your shoes?”

He takes her hands from where they’re probing his head for bumps. “I’m all right, not really, no, and I have no idea.”

“God—” she says, but the rest of it is lost in her relief.

“What about you?” he asks, sounding a little desperate. “Are you all right? Where’s Ollie?”

“He’s with Myling, he’s safe, don’t worry. And I’m fine, I was just…  _ terrified, _ Matthew, don’t you ever do this to me again!”

“I won’t,” he promises, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”

They stay there for a long moment, long enough for Joey and Daniel to approach the stage. “Aw, JPG,” Daniel says as he crouches next to her, tracing a finger along her forehead. “I felt the magic snap a while back. Then when the cars chasing us stopped chasing us, we figured Iridessa must be dead.”

“It was my fault,” Nikita speaks up. She’s been quiet for a while now from where she stands at Matt’s shoulder like a sentry, her eyes back to their normal brown, no longer breathing smoke like a literal dragon. She purses her lips. “To be honest… I’d been aiming at  _ her. _ But guns freak me out, even if they’re just blasters, and I missed. I hit the chalice instead.”

Matt reaches a hand out to her. “You saved me. Thank you.” He looks at them all. “All of you… you came for me. I don’t—”

“You don’t have to,” Andrea tells him with a small smile. “Believe me, I know.”

He flinches. “You guys… I’m so sorry. I am so… sorry.”

“No.” The psychic pushes her long bangs out of her eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry. My inability to keep my mouth shut has been a problem for a long time and I  _ need _ to fix it, I know. I shouldn’t have spilled your secret, Matt.”

“I shouldn’t have kept secrets.” He looks down at his freed hands—the shackles had come undone when the chalice had shattered into a bunch of metal shards. Stephanie had been stroking them with her fingertips, frowning deeply, and suddenly Eva’s kind of glad she didn’t have to see Matt shackled to the altar like he had been.

Joey hops up onto the stage while Daniel carefully folds Jetpack Girl’s hands onto her chest. “We all kept secrets, Matt.”

“I was just…” Matt, who’s always seemed incredibly put together to Eva, no matter how tired he looked that day, curls in on himself now. He hasn’t really stopped shaking since they found him.

“I’m sorry too,” she finds herself saying, and they all turn to her in surprise. Eva keeps her eyes on Matt, her voice gentle and steady. “I think I might have contributed—even cultivated—an environment where you didn’t feel safe sharing your secrets with us. I was… angry, all the time, because I was scared, and I have a hard time with trust. We preached all the time that you could come to us, but over and over again when someone tried to come clean,  _ I’m _ the one who fucked it up. I’m sorry, Matt.” She looks to Andrea and Nikita. “I’m sorry, you guys.”

Matt looks a bit stunned by this apology. “But—”

“I’m sorry too,” Tyler speaks up. “I relied on you a lot more than I should have, I think. I took you for granted. You always felt so… wise, and available, and like you had all the answers. And you’ve helped me in ways I can’t even begin to thank you properly for. But it was one-sided, and I’m sorry I never paid you back for all the help you’ve given me, Matt. From here on out, I’m going to do better.”

“You guys—”

Oli raises a hand, and Matt’s mouth snaps closed. “I’d also like to apologize,” he says quietly. “I knew you were struggling with something and I didn’t push like I should have. I assumed that you would come to us when you were ready, because that’s what  _ we _ do, but I know you well enough now to know that you internalize all of your pain so you can help others. And it’s very noble, Matt, but it’s dangerous for you, and even if you can’t trust the others just yet—” He gives Eva’s hand an acknowledging squeeze, and she smiles at the floor. “—I hope you know that you can always trust me.”

Joey clears his throat. “I’m also—”

“Please stop,” Matt croaks out. He looks overwhelmed, his fingers curled over the edge of the altar, gripping it like a lifeline hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s waiting for the catch, and as Eva watches him she tries to find the anger and the sting of betrayal she’d felt when she first learned that he’d kept things from them. Somewhere between meeting his family and first laying eyes on him chained and collared to a sacrificial altar, she’s lost all resentment she’d ever had—not just towards him, but everyone else, too. He’d been scared, and that might have been her fault, and maybe she has to be the hard one to keep everyone safe, but they should  _ feel _ safe with her too.

And she should feel safe with them.

Joey continues, more gentle now. “I’m sorry for ignoring you, Matt. I hoped that if you thought I was still dead, or still in Everlock, you’d be left out of this mess.”

Nikita snorts. “You know Matt’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to clues and shit.”

He cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know. It was wishful thinking. And honestly, I probably should have brought you in from the start. You’d be able to figure this crystal thing out in no time flat.”

It sounds like a compliment, but Matt seems to shrivel up even more. Eva’s heart sinks, recognizing a relapse when she sees one. Two days in Iridessa’s care could not have been good for all the progress he’s made in therapy.

Stephanie notices too, and she nudges him with her elbow. He takes a shaky breath, looking up at the others. “Can we—” His voice breaks. “Can we start over?”

Eva smiles. “Sounds good to me.”

“We’ll do it better this time,” Tyler agrees.

“And we’ll do it together,” Joey says, reaching out to squeeze Matt’s knee. “I promise.”

Matt’s answering smile is shaky, but it’s there, and for the first time in a long time it looks  _ real. _

Then his attention is diverted, and his eyes widen at something behind them. Eva whirls, expecting trouble. What she sees is the bodies of the SAE members, every single one of them beginning to glow the soft white Iridessa had one by one. It drifts upwards like wispy white smoke, filling the church with light. The others just watch in awe as the smoke dissipates, leaving nothing behind in its wake.

They all convene at the edge of the stage to watch in silent awe as each member disappears, on their way to whatever comes after death. When it’s Jetpack Girl’s turn, Joey says suddenly, “I can save her.”

Tyler jerks, pivoting towards him. “Can you?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m death, I’m the Scythe. I mean I haven’t  _ tried _ it yet, but—”

“Do it,” says Andrea, sounding desperate. “Please do it, Joey?”

Jetpack Girl begins to glow, and Joey hops off the stage to kneel next to her. Eva holds her breath as he places one hand on her forehead and the other on her chest where her heart would be. For a moment the white light swirls with dark purple emanating from Joey’s hands, and then it vanishes altogether.

A split second later, Jetpack Girl gasps.

Joey falls back as she sits straight up. Stephanie claps a hand to her mouth, while Tyler and Andrea both crash to their knees and pull her into a messy hug they manage to yank Joey into, too.

Jetpack Girl looks wildly from face to face. “What happened?” she asks, bewildered.

Matt smiles at her, looking weak and tired and hungry and  _ happy. _ “We won,” he says.

“Oh,” she says dumbly. “Okay.”

Eva smiles and turns her face into Oli’s chest.

Yeah. It’s a happy ending.

-

They bring each other up to speed as quickly as possible, since the Patricks need to collect their kid and get home. Matt tells Joey about J, the angel-like person he'd met in his dreams, and about how Shane warned him to be careful with the crystal, that it’s a trap, a bargaining chip the Cursed God intends on using to get free. Joey looks dismayed by the news, but Matt assures him that he’ll help him, Daniel, and Jetpack Girl study Iridessa’s notes and see if they can get their friends out themselves without releasing the Cursed God.

“After all,” Matt says, flexing his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them, “we’re the gatekeepers now. We’re the ones who decide.”

Joey makes a face. “I still have no idea what that means.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Tyler informs Matt of Iridessa’s husband, and he sighs. “That explains why she kept calling me by my full name,” he says, sounding a bit wistful. “I thought that was weird, since she used everyone else’s nicknames for them.”

Stephanie wrinkles her nose a bit. “She tried to make you the Cursed God’s vessel because her husband had been? What, like that was going to be some kind of poetic justice?”

“I think she was thinking it was a fitting kind of punishment,” he murmurs. “She was… really kind of sad, to be honest.”

“She hurt you,” Nikita says darkly. “In an unforgivable way, she hurt you, and all of us, too. She was not a good person.”

“That’s fair. I think maybe she might have been, once upon a time.” His eyes seem rather distant. “But good people don’t stay good. They get tired, you know? And she’d been tired for hundreds of years, and she’d been so alone.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not,” says Oli. “You’re not alone, Matt. You aren’t her just because you have her magic now. You know that, right?”

Matt takes a deep breath and seems to come back to himself. “Yeah,” he says, giving them a small smile. “Yeah, I know that.”

“Good.” He sighs. “Let’s go home.”

Eva squeezes his hand, the one she hasn’t let go of yet. “Yeah,” she says. “Home sounds nice.”

-

They go to The Living Room first. Little Ollie is as happy to see his father as he is to see him. Myling insists on feeding him the second she learns exactly what went down, so they all sit down to eat a proper breakfast—it’s just past ten o’clock, but the whole endeavor felt like it took days. Gabby stays too (and Jetpack Girl, whom is invited to stay with Joey and Daniel for the time being, since she no longer really has a home), and finally gets to meet Matt. Eva thinks Nikita looks nervous about her boys having a face to face conversation, but it all goes well, and nothing bad happens.

Then they go to the Patricks’, since most of their cars are still there in the driveway. They all promise to keep a low profile until Sunday, to completely avoid Halloween coming up in two days, and then one by one they all go home.

And Eva intends to shower and then sleep forever, but before that—

She smiles at Oli in the passenger seat of her van, and he smiles back at her as they fly down the road towards her house.

Well. They’ll figure something out, she’s sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *claps hands on cheeks* this is ALMOST DONE THIS IS CRAAAAAZY
> 
> I have nothing else to say really, except that the next chapter is the epilogue and the final chapter and then I'm DONE! FOR NOW! still with two books after this and a handful of side stories but YALL !! I WROTE this thing!! what the heck
> 
> I went back and forth on whether I'd let JPG live and ultimately it came down to reactions. originally she wasn't gonna be brought back, but everybody was so happy to see her when she was re-introduced I was like ahhhhh ok ok ok lemme just Correct that lmao
> 
> Up next: a month later, a cemetery meet up, a plan is set into motion


	30. epilogue

It’s November 1st before Tyler finally starts to relax.

He’s spent most of the past two days hiding in his house. Eva drops Oli off on Tuesday and they watch Disney movies and sleep and do very little else. Had Tyler been in the mood (and had he not known his friends well enough to know they move like sloths in terms of dating), he would’ve teased Oli about staying the night with his girlfriend. But truth be told, that first night alone had been hell, his dreams replaying Eva and Jetpack Girl falling from the balcony over and over and over again. Eventually he’d given up on sleep and lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering what all this meant for his future, and if he’d have a whole new fresh set of trauma when he was just getting over his last one.

Maybe, he thinks morosely. But at least this time he isn’t alone.

Oli’s the cure, as it turns out. He’d been the one to suggest The Hunchback of Notre Dame, since he’s never seen it, and Tyler gasps like it’s the most scandalous thing he’s heard in years, and then they don’t stop with that one.

Tyler’s asleep halfway through The Lion King II, and he stays that way, nightmares be damned,  _ Upendi _ ringing in his ears and making him think that yeah okay, maybe this is going to be okay.

-

It’s November 4th and Tyler suddenly understands why GTLive went on a brief hiatus. The bruises are  _ ugly _ and quite frankly terrifying to look at and he can’t stop himself from gasping as Matt unwinds the scarf from around his neck when he comes in that Sunday for group.

“Oh,  _ Matt,” _ he says, and he’s already tearing up.

Matt looks embarrassed, but the smile he gives Tyler is a shy one. “It’s not as bad as it was,” he says quietly, voice still a bit raspy. “I’ve been working on figuring out the— _ my _ magic, because I think I can maybe heal it, but I haven’t found much yet.”

Tyler wants to hug him, but he suspects that won’t be very productive. Oli rescues him by patting Matt on the shoulder, every inch the gentle giant in the room. “You’ll figure it out,” he tells him, resolute faith resonating in his tone and words.

Matt brushes his fingertips on his neck. “On the bright side,” he says, some of that signature dry humor creeping in, “I think I’m desensitized to that trigger now. Guess we can say exposure therapy works.”

“That was  _ not _ exposure therapy,” Tyler says, sharper than he meant to by the startled expression that crosses Matt’s face. He winces, softening a little. “Matt, she hurt you. You can be upset about that, it’s okay.”

He ducks his head, his long bangs coming forward to hide his eyes. Eventually he murmurs, “Okay.”

And Tyler doesn’t really think he believes him, but he backs off as the others arrive.

It’s okay. They have time. And just because they’ve slipped a few steps doesn’t mean they never made any progress.

The session is mostly a check in to see where everyone’s at, and an introduction for Joey, since he’s never been before. Tyler shares his book with him, but he mostly sits on the stage next to Eva, watching the group with quiet, wary eyes. Tyler tries not to feel like they’re starting all over again. Really, all he has to do is look over to his left, and there’s Andrea, smiling at him with a fondness she only reserves for him. And on his right, Oli and Eva sit side by side, one hand on the other even as they’re listening intently to what Matt and Joey have been uncovering about the crystal. Nikita fires off a scathing joke or two, and Joey—who’s known her before, went through their slaughtering together, and so isn’t startled at all by her sense of humor—laughs easily at them.

Tyler feels some of that tension leave him. They’ve slipped for sure. But healing, after all, isn’t linear.

And they’re gaining ground.

-

It’s November 8th when Jetpack Girl shows up on his doorstep with Andrea in tow.

“I need your help,” Andrea says, very serious. “Jetpack Girl doesn’t have  _ any _ modern clothes.”

“Well that just won’t do,” Tyler says, looking at their sheepish friend. She’s in a corset, for crying out loud.

Tyler’s happy to see them both. They spend the day at the mall making Jetpack Girl try on every outfit imaginable, finally settling on Hipster Lesbian Seattlite—what consists mostly of ripped skinny jeans, old and faded leather jackets, plaid shirts and beanies. Tyler makes her try on a pair of lensless glasses as well and gives a slow whistle as he steps back to study her.

“Do you like girls or guys, JG?” he asks, to which she responds, “Oh I am  _ so _ gay, Tyler, like— _ so _ gay.”

He laughs. “What do you think?”

She frowns at herself when she looks in the mirror, turning this way and that before solemnly turning to her friends and saying, “It’s just missing one thing.”

They find a backpack in the shape of a jetpack in Fuego, and Jetpack Girl is practically giddy by the time they leave the mall. Tyler and Andrea trade knowing smiles and Tyler resolves to figuring out how to  _ (definitely  _ illegally) obtain an identity for their time-displaced friend.

Apocalypse is coming, yada yada, but so is Christmas and Tyler doesn’t have the patience to be terrified shitless anymore.

-

It’s November 14th and Matt’s over, partly because Tyler would like his help in figuring out magic and partly because he’d missed group a few days ago and that, more than anything, worries the hell out of him. They all would’ve panicked too had Stephanie not called him and told him, voice quiet with coveted awe, that he’s sleeping.

And Matt certainly looks better when he shows up that afternoon. His bruises are  _ gone, _ and his voice is clear when he greets Tyler as he opens the door.

Tyler grins, delighted. “You figured it out!”

“Kinda,” he corrects as Tyler moves aside to let him in. “It more or less happened on its own. I think it’s maybe instinct, like how you threw out a hand and created a whirlwind to catch Eva and Jetpack Girl back at the church.”

Tyler flexes his hand at the reminder. “Yeah, I’d like to know how to do that on purpose,” he admits. “If this thing is happening—”

“No, yeah, training is a good idea,” Matt agrees. “Nikita and I have already been working on it.”

Tyler raises his brows. “Maybe we should make it a group thing?”

“You wanna add that segment to group?”

He wrinkles his nose at the thought. “I really don’t think Myling would appreciate us setting things on fire in her coffee shop.”

“Touché.” He looks around the silent house. “Where’s Oli?”

“On a date.” Tyler smirks. “Think they’re finally doing something normal and seeing a movie or something.”

“Exciting.”

Tyler shrugs. “We need a little normal, don’t you think?”

“True that.”

Matt’s brown eyes dance with mirth, and it’s almost startling to see. Tyler hasn’t really noticed up till now—and he kicks himself every day for it, to be honest—but Matt had always carried this heavy sadness with him with everything he did. Some of it is still there, lingering in his long gazes and how a smile will fade and quiet, but the change is profound.

“You look good,” Tyler notes sometime later, after they’ve given up on trying to recreate the miniature tornado he’d pulled—no pun intended—out of thin air. They’re back inside, safe from the bite of November wind and nursing hot chocolates that Tyler added some peppermint to because a) ‘tis the season and b) he’s still not the biggest fan of sweet things in general.

Matt hums into his cocoa, cupping the mug to warm his hands. “Nightmares are gone,” he remarks. “At least the recurring one. Honestly, compared to that, the others are a cakewalk.”

“I know what you mean,” Tyler says, staring into his own cup. “But I’m glad you’ve finally been getting some sleep.”

There’s a long moment when Matt doesn’t speak, and when he does he sounds hesitant still. “Tyler—”

“If you’re going to apologize again, you can save it,” Tyler tells him, not unkindly. “Matt. It’s okay.”

“It doesn’t feel okay,” Matt admits. “I keep thinking of everything I should have done, how this could’ve turned out so much better—”

“Should and could don’t matter when it  _ is,” _ Tyler reminds him, and is surprised when he huffs out a laugh. “What?”

“Nothing. You just sound like Nikita.”

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.”

They pack up, since it’s edging into winter now and lord knows it’s dark enough as it is even without the sun setting earlier and earlier. Tyler tries to ignore it, but it feels like a Sign.

“Have you figured out the crystal yet?” he asks as he walks Matt to the door.

Matt shakes his head. “We have a couple of ideas though. Just need to solidify a plan first.” At Tyler’s doubtful look, he adds, “We’ll tell you guys at next group, I promise.”

“If you don’t sleep through it,” Tyler teases, and regrets it a little when Matt flinches. “Hey, it’s okay. I’d rather you be sleeping, you know that.”

“I do,” Matt agrees, looking a little sheepish. “I do, Tyler, really. It’s just… I guess maybe the attention is… I’m not used to it.”

“Well  _ get _ used to it, Matthew,” Tyler tells him, crossing his arms. “‘Cause I really don’t think any of us are going to be taking our eyes off you ever again.”

He expects a little more of the pleased blush Matt tends to get when he’s reminded he has friends who care about him, but Matt’s stunning smile that lights up the foyer damn near blinds him. “What?” he asks, blinking into it. “What did I say?”

“You called me Matthew,” he points out.

Tyler frowns, remembering Iridessa’s insistence on calling Matt by his full name. “Is that bad?”

Matt shakes his head. “It’s good, coming from you. Coming from my friends.”

And, well, Tyler doesn’t really understand, but he lets it go, waving from his doorway as Matt starts his car and heads back home.

He practices some more that night, but magic is tiring as hell, and Oli finds him passed out in the living room with papers strewn all about in the wake of the whirlwind he was successfully able to pull off.

He wakes up in his bed with the covers drawn to his chin and thinks that maybe this is actually going to turn out okay.

-

It’s November 21st and they’ve gathered at the cemetery.

Anthony sighs upon seeing them all together, finally voicing, “Two years it’s just been the two of you, and now there are—” He counts, raising an eyebrow. “Nine?”

Jetpack Girl and Daniel have also joined—they need them, for this plan to work—but they linger in the back with the other new arrivals.

Tyler gives him a placating smile. “We’re pretty sure this is the last of us,” he tells him, adding silently,  _ And hopefully the last time we’ll have to come here. _

Anthony chuckles. “You’re a good boy, Tyler,” he tells him, and warmth explodes in Tyler’s chest as the cemetery owner opens the gate and lets them on through.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Matt murmurs to Nikita when she pauses at the entrance. He takes her by the hand and gently leads her across the threshold. “We’re going to pull this off, I promise.”

It’s their usual routine. Tyler has a hard time concentrating on it, though, because he’s so freaking anxious. Matt and Joey had outlined the plan at group last Sunday, but there’s still a slight chance that this goes horribly, terribly wrong and all hell breaks loose—literally. Despite this, Matt’s calm confidence is a boon in the morning chill, and Joey’s bubbly hope is infectious. Tyler doesn’t really relax, but he does begin to believe that they might actually pull this off.

They reconvene in the third lot, letting Nikita kneel at Manny’s headstone alone for a moment while they set up the circle.

Andrea looks doubtfully at what looks like a séance being set up. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

Matt pauses, tilting his head. “Maybe eighty-seven percent sure?”

“That’s a weirdly specific number.”

“Well, I calculated it.”

“You would,” Nikita tells him as she rejoins the group. Her eyes are suspiciously puffy, but she nudges Matt with affection and says, “Nerd.”

“I’m allowed to be, I got a perfect score on my SATs.”

Tyler gapes at him. “Did you  _ really?” _

Matt shrugs. “Wasn’t that hard.”

“It’s done,” Joey announces, sitting back. The circle is made of lit candles, allowing for seven gaps—where they all would sit—with the crystal lying in the middle of it. Tyler thinks that the wind is going to puff out the candles immediately, but to his surprise they don’t even really flicker, despite the early morning breeze ruffling through his hair.

He takes that as a good sign and kneels, Eva on one side and Andrea on the other. Nikita eyes the grass, nudging at it with the toe of her black leather boot. “It’s not wet, is it?”

Matt rolls his eyes and tugs her down to sit on his right, Andrea on his left. Daniel stands behind Joey, holding his shoulders as the Scythe offers his hands for Oli and Nikita to take. When they’ve all joined hands, Joey looks a bit nervously at Matt, who smiles and nods at him.

“So we’re clear on what’s going on, then,” he says, holding each person’s gaze to make sure there’s no confusion. “We get all of them or we get none of them, those are the rules. And we try not to use our magic, because that’ll alert him to what we’re doing.”

“If he doesn’t know already,” Nikita mutters.

“He would’ve stopped us by now if he knew,” Matt says, sounding a lot more confident than Tyler feels. “We can do this, you guys.”

“Okay.” Joey takes a deep breath. “Tyler, do you want to do the honors?”

Tyler blinks, startled. “Why me?”

“‘Cause you did it last time,” Andrea reminds him with a little grin. “And this whole thing kind of started with you pulling us together to do group. Without you, none of this would be happening.”

Tyler blushes. And he says, voice squeaking just a little bit, “Yeah, sure! Why not?”

It’s November 21st and Thanksgiving is tomorrow and Tyler is scared out of his mind at the thought of diving into a multi-dimensional prison to bring back his dead friends without letting the Cursed God know they’re rifling through his stuff but, more than anything in the world, he wants to hug Alex and apologize for ever letting him die in that horrible place. So he squares his shoulders. And he closes his eyes.

And he whispers, towards the crystal,  _ “Sanctum regnum.” _

The whole world explodes in light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. that happened.
> 
> um, holy shit yall. it's done. wow.
> 
> I wanna say thank you for being so patient with me even when I slipped and couldn't get chapters out on time, and thank you for all the love you've shown me, and the theories (some of which yall nailed! and some will be revealed in time...), and just generally sticking around? this was such a labor of love all around and I really appreciate the support and kindness you all have given me in the--jeez, almost a full year since I started this! it's incredible, and I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love all of you.
> 
> I got some really incredible gifts I wanted to share with you all! Alice_not_in_Wonderland drew me this BEAUTIFUL picture that drove me to tears uhhh immediately: https://justtryingtowritealittle.tumblr.com/post/185157261727/what-whats-wrong-she-shakes-her-head-still
> 
> and Adopppp has made playlists! https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLm32zxfOxd8prPXtL0mDv743TMujXrZxw (and Spotify if you have it: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1IdXQXPD4xxoalrgOQRRv2 )
> 
> thank you both, and everyone who's ever made work inspired by this one! tell me and I'll link you!
> 
> okay that's it! that's all folks! until next time, anyway...
> 
> thank you I love you I hope happiness finds you all wherever you go <3
> 
> \- Jas

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the three times matt rescued nikita, and the one time nikita rescued matt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926684) by [Willowcat88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowcat88/pseuds/Willowcat88)
  * [Disappear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18765952) by [CrazyTheory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyTheory/pseuds/CrazyTheory)




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